Hey guys, here's the next chapter, I hope you like. Also, if there is anything y'all would like to see we have a whole school year to get through, so there is gonna be a few filler stuff I haven't quite worked out yet...if you're really yearning for something just let me know and I'll see if I can work it in.

As always this piece would be a mess without Jay, so thank you, darling. 3

I just want to be clear: I love Shane, and Lori both, so much. And I won't tolerate character bashing. Yeah, you can say: "damn! Shane was being an asshole in this part" or "wow, Lori was being such a bitch here." But please leave it within the fanfiction world, please and thank you. They have to be kind of jerks in order for this to work, but I try to make all my characters multifaceted, please respect that and the characters. 3

Chapter Four

Eye of the Storm

The rain pelted against the dorm room window. Rick couldn't concentrate, finding himself paying more attention to the droplets sliding down the glass than the Law and Humanities book open in his lap. With a sigh, he flipped the textbook closed over his blank page of notes and tossed it onto his desk from his spot on the bed. He stretched his hands up before dropping them heavily against his thighs, resting his head back on the wall he was leaning on, closing his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them again, they fell on the bed parallel to his. It was empty, its owner having left for class a few hours ago.

The navy blue sheets were bunched and twisted at the bottom, like they always were. Rick didn't think he'd ever seen Daryl make his bed. He'd had it drilled into his own head by his mother, every day of his life so it was almost second nature to him, but Daryl left them haphazardly piled at the foot of the bed, one corner dangling towards the linoleum floor. At first, Rick had thought the other man got hot in his sleep and kicked his sheets off in a fit of discomfort, but the weather had cooled recently, a decent nip to the air at night when the sun's warmth disappeared from the sky. Yet, every morning, there they lay, cotton sheets in disarray.

Rick suspected Daryl suffered from nightmares. If the almost constant dark circles under his eyes weren't enough of a giveaway, then the sheets consistently coiled ominously like snakes at the bottom of his roommate's bed definitely were. It was just a suspicion, though. He'd never actually caught Daryl in the throes of a nightmare. He must keep silent, since Rick was an irritatingly light sleeper. Even when he was up doing homework, Daryl had always slept peacefully, turned towards the wall, curled around his pillow like a cat. It was an oddly endearing way for the rough-cut man to sleep.

Rick was jolted from his wondering thoughts by the piercing sound of the fire alarm screeching on, disturbing the sleepy Thursday afternoon. Rick's heart jumped into his throat for a moment before he relaxed again with a shaky chuckle. He slipped on his shoes and jean jacket, digging in the closet for his umbrella. He found it on the top shelf, next to Daryl's crossbow, and pulled it towards him. A loose crossbow bolt rolled off the shelf and tumbled to the ground. He hesitated for a second, before picking it up with a murmured, "shit," and placing it carefully back in the closet. He patted his pocket to make sure he had his keys before heading into the hallway. He followed the crowd down the stairwell, a school of fish following the current.

A few feet ahead of him he spotted a familiar twist of long dark hair pulled back by a colorful strip of cloth. He squeezed past a few first years who opened their mouths indignantly, only to snap them shut again when they recognized Rick as a senior. He muttered an "excuse me" as he went, catching up to Michonne. He couldn't fit in beside her since the narrow staircase was packed full. Instead, he walked behind her for a flight, attempting to listen in on the conversation she was having with the blonde from his floor. He couldn't pick up a word over the various complaints being tossed around by the people around him and the echoing blare of the fire alarm.

He waited until the crowd spilled out into the road in front of the dorm building to say anything, listening instead to the opening of several umbrellas, like birds taking off in flight. "Why don't you go burn your own house down?" Rick teased with a smile.

Michonne whipped around with as much grace as she could manage while holding the purple umbrella for both her and the blonde. "How'd you know it was me?" she asked, mockingly contrite.

"I know your cookin'," he replied, a crooked grin gracing his features.

"I think your cooking's great." The shorter blonde at Michonne's shoulder stood up straighter, her head almost bumping the silver metal of the umbrella.

"Andrea, this is Rick, he's my pain-in-the-ass best friend," Michonne introduced, waving a hand dismissively at Rick, who was really smiling now.

"How do ya' do?" Rick greeted the pretty woman, who was giving him an assessing look with sharp blue eyes.

"I'm all right. You're Lori's boyfriend, aren't you?"

Rick felt his eyebrow twitch slightly and his bottom lip rolled inwards, catching on his teeth. He dipped his head slightly, his black umbrella knocking the side of Michonne's. "Ya know Lori?"

"We share a bathroom," Andrea explained simply with a shrug, avoiding Rick's gaze.

Rick looked from Michonne to Andrea and back again before shaking his head and letting out a breathy chuckle. "Michonne been givin' ya' the wrong impression?"

Andrea looked up at him, startled, eyes that had been narrowed in judgment widened at his bluntness. "I just—I didn't—"

"It's all right, Rick knows his girl is a piece of work," Michonne cut in, bumping Rick's umbrella with her own rather than touching their shoulders, as she normally would.

"Watch it," Rick warned, but there was no heat behind the words. He knew that Michonne really didn't mean anything by it—her distaste for Lori had been established early on in their friendship. Rick thought that his nonchalance about the animosity—for the feeling was definitely mutual between the two women—probably shouldn't be as casual as it was. He never defended his girlfriend, and, deep in his gut he knew there was something wrong with that.

Speaking of Lori, he hadn't seen her exiting her room, and he knew she didn't have class this afternoon. He turned away from Michonne and Andrea, who had gone back to their previous discussion. He moved off a few steps, trying to get a better view of the crowd; Horvath house was one of the bigger dorm buildings on campus, and there were hundreds of students milling about.

The collage of umbrellas made it hard to make out anyone's faces from underneath their shadows, and the gray sky did nothing to aid in his search. He wandered away from the front of the building, weaving through people with nondescript faces until he was standing near the edge of the crowd on the other side of the street near the park. He stood on sidewalk, using the toe of his boot to uproot weeds growing in the cracks out of boredom.

The wind picked up slightly, spraying his back with icy droplets, and he stood straighter, body shivering in shock. It was then that he looked across the park to the other side of the block, noticing a figure walking towards the building, hunched forward and hands shoved in their pockets. Another gust of wind split the white sheets of rain suddenly. Rick glimpsed the tattered jeans and leather vest through the break in the rain, realizing it was a waterlogged Daryl walking towards him.

With a smile, Rick strode over to meet Daryl halfway. Daryl was watching his feet as he walked, Rick could see the top of his brown hair as he marched through the storm. He stopped a few feet away and let Daryl approach him, his hip cocked to the side and eyebrow raised. It took a few more seconds for Daryl to lift his head with a surprised look on his face, which was covered with clay, red running down his cheeks like russet tears, exaggerating the startling blue of his eyes.

"The fuck ya' doin' out here, Grimes?" Daryl questioned, but then looked over Rick's shoulder and noticed the crowd. "Fire drill," the observant man answered his own question with a shake of head, mussing his hair, which stuck to the side of his face in loops.

Rick just smiled and nodded. "It won't be for much longer, they ain't gonna keep us out in the rain."

"Bastards," Daryl muttered under his breath, pulling his shoulders forwards more and rubbing the side of his face against the top of his leather vest. He looked back at Rick with one eye closed, a red trail of clay running down from his hairline.

Rick's fingers twitched forwards, intent on brushing the offending material from Daryl's unblemished face. He covered the movement quickly by shoving his own hand down into his pocket and stretching the arm that held his umbrella out towards Daryl, who looked out at him wearily from his good eye.

"I ain't gettin' under there," Daryl snapped.

"You're gonna get sick," Rick argued, the smile slipping from his face, replaced by a thin line of determination.

"I'm already soaked to the fuckin' bone."

"Just get under here. There's plenty of room." Rick gestured with the umbrella again. He wanted to take a step forwards and just bring Daryl under the cover of the canopy, but he knew that he'd probably just walk away with a black eye. Daryl had to choose to enter Rick's space; it wasn't going to work the other way around. He held the umbrella out so far he could feel the run off of rain going down the back of his shirt, a piece of the metal catching on one of the curls at the nape of his neck.

After a moment, a sliver of blue iris rolled towards Rick. Daryl stepped forwards and under the shelter of Rick's umbrella. Rick sucked in a breath that he hoped was covered by the sound of the rain on the fabric above them. He'd never been quite so close to the other man; their shoulders were centimeters from touching, and he could feel the heat of Daryl's bare arms radiating off him like rays from the sun. He felt like it was burning him.

His heart was pounding against his chest, and he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. They stood like that for a moment, Daryl as still as he could possibly be. Rick glanced down to check if the man, who was doing his best impression of a statue, was even breathing. He was, but barely, his chest rising and falling in short pants of air. Rick's fingers tingled with the urge to soothe, but he knew that his touch would be unwelcome, and, though it left a hollow feeling behind his ribcage, he resisted the urge to even bump shoulders with his friend.

"You look like you'd rather be anywhere else in the world," Rick observed. It was supposed to be a joke, meant to elevate the crushing weight that seemed to come with existing within Daryl's personal bubble, but his voice betrayed him.

Rick saw Daryl's open eye slid over towards him, looking him up and down curiously. "This ain't the comfiest I've ever been," he admitted with a grunt, reaching up to rub the dirt out of his eye. He moved his hand to his hair, pushing it back from his forehead, slicking it down against his scalp.

"When was?" Rick let the words spill out of his mouth without a thought, too distracted by the pale skin of Daryl's forehead. He blinked, startled, realizing that he had been distracted by something so arbitrary about the man. That's weird.

"When was what?" Daryl asked his voice gravelly but not exactly annoyed. He wasn't looking at Rick, a fact which Rick found particularly comforting as he tried to control the blush that was rising to the surface of his cheeks like oil on water.

This is your friend, man. Get it together. What is wrong with you? His thoughts were panicked as he tried to swallow around his suddenly dry throat. He felt inexplicably parched as he watched the path of a rain drop slide down the side of Daryl's neck, oddly transfixed. Jesus. He snapped his attention to the crowd a few yards away which had begun to shuffle forwards.

"Uh—" Rick cleared his throat, "looks like they're letting people back in."

Daryl turned his head slightly, resting both of his keen, crystal eyes on Rick's face. "Looks like," he agreed without taking his attention off Rick.

Rick could've sworn he saw Daryl's eyes flick down to the faint blush that he was still struggling to beat back. "Wanna go in?" Rick's gaze skittered away from Daryl, turning towards the dorm and walking forward without waiting for a response.

Daryl matched his strides easily as they walked side by side back towards their building. It was quiet. Rick was reeling from the intense reaction that he had experienced not a moment before. The tightness in his throat was still there, Adam's apple bobbing several times as he tried to swallow. He felt too hot in his skin. The crisp bite of the wind couldn't cool him.

"Rick!"

He nearly jumped out of his too-tight skin at the sound of his name, stumbling slightly and bumping his shoulder against Daryl's. Both of them sprang away, eyes wide. For a moment they stared at each other in shock, before Rick's gaze flickered down to the movement of Daryl's hand as he unclenched it. Rick gave him an apologetic smile, which Daryl must've accepted because he cautiously stepped back under the shelter of the umbrella.

The owner of the voice finally caught up to them, smacking Rick on the shoulder with a smile. It was Glenn. Maggie was hovering on his other side, holding their umbrella between them.

"Hey, Daryl!" he greeted when he realized who was walking with Rick.

Daryl gave him a short nod in acknowledgement, a vast improvement from just a few days before.

"What's up, man?" Glenn asked, turning his attention back to Rick.

"Nothin' really, goin' back up to the room. Not sure what I'm gonna do though, homework wasn't really gettin' done before and now I'm definitely too distracted." Rick shrugged slightly.

"Well, I've got those cards from the Alice and Wonderland scavenger hunt I had to do with the other RAs over the summer. We could play a game."

"You gamble, Short Round?" Daryl had raised an eyebrow, a twisted smirk playing on his face.

Glenn grinned sheepishly. "I was thinkin' more along the lines of Go Fish."

Daryl snorted in amusement.

"Ain't nothin' better goin' on," Maggie said, coming to defense of her boyfriend.

"I'm down," Rick agreed.

"Fine, but I'm gonna kick all y'all's asses," Daryl conceded.

"Good, I already invited Michonne and that girl she was with, Andrea. I didn't see Lori or Shane, but I guess we could text them."

Rick shrugged his shoulders in a noncommittal gesture, the mention of his girlfriend stirring his gut with confusion. As they entered the building Daryl reached for the umbrella, wrapping his hand just above Rick's and tugging gently. Startled, Rick let go and watched, alongside Glenn and Maggie, as Daryl opened the glass door to shake the black fabric out before closing it and wrapping the tie around it. He handed it back to Rick with a grunt of thanks and then moved around the group to punch the up button on the elevator so harshly Rick was surprised the plastic didn't crack.

He shared a confused look with Maggie and Glenn behind Daryl's back as they waited for the elevator. There were several people milling around, also waiting for the lazier option instead of taking the stairs, but, when they noticed Daryl had situated himself in front of one of the doorways, many people turned around and opted for the longer route. Another person, however, decided joined their little group, standing off to the side of the metal doorway, leaning against the wall and pulling at her short hair, which was spiking up in several different directions.

"Hey, Carol," Rick greeted as the ding signaling the doors were going to open went off.

She smiled shyly at him, big blue eyes making contact with his before fluttering down to the floor again. When the shining metal pulled back into its casing, Daryl stepped away from the entrance and gestured towards Carol.

She looked up, glancing from Daryl to Rick and back again, a question in her frightened eyes.

"Well, after you," Daryl snapped impatiently, though his tone lacked any severity.

Carol lurched off the wall she'd been leaning against like it had shocked her, scurrying forwards into the small space, flashing Daryl a quick smile of thanks before pressing herself into the back corner of the elevator. Daryl stepped on after her, not granting his three other companions the same courtesy as he had the mousy redhead.

Rick's stomach flipped at this revelation as he stepped onto the elevator after Glenn and Maggie. He took a deep breath, attempting to calm the churning in his stomach that was threatening to make him sick, his abdominal muscles clenched involuntarily, dully aching. He leaned against the wall opposite Daryl, as far away as he could get from his roommate in the cramped space. He prayed the elevator didn't break down; it already felt like all the air had been sucked from the room, and he really wasn't sure why.

"Ya' play cards?" Daryl asked into the empty air. He was standing in front of Carol, facing the floor buttons.

Glenn, Maggie, and Rick were all silent, mirrored expressions of curiosity briefly appearing on their faces before they quickly smoothed them over into neutral masks. There was another beat of silence while Carol looked around at everyone she could make eye contact with. After a moment she jumped slightly, obviously coming to the conclusion that the question had been directed at her.

"N-no." She cleared her throat and stood up straighter.

Daryl turned to glance at her over his shoulder; his hair had fallen back down into his face. Rick knew that Carol couldn't see the soft liquid look of Daryl's gemstone eyes, but he could, and the disarming expression had his stomach clawing its way up into his throat.

"Ya' wanna learn?" Daryl's voice was quiet, reminding Rick of the tone one might use to talk to a small child or a frightened animal.

"I—" Carol looked confused for a moment, but then an understanding smile spread across her face. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Good." Daryl turned his head just as the doors opened and he strode out, not giving anyone a chance to react to his unexplained gentleness. Carol skittered out of the elevator like an invisible string was pulling her behind him.

Glenn, Maggie, and Rick all shared a look as they stepped off after the pair.

"What was all that about?" Maggie asked quietly, glad for the cover of people still milling about the halls.

Rick shrugged.

"I like to call it 'The Rick Grimes Effect'," Glenn declared, clearing his throat and adjusting imaginary glasses. "It's a theory I've been working on since freshman year."

"Oh?" Rick questioned with a chuckle.

"Tell me more," Maggie giggled.

"Well, I've noticed that any time—" Glenn was cut off by a sharp voice from behind.

"Rick."

The trio turned simultaneously, coming face to face with Shane. He was wearing a thunderous expression, dark brows drawn downwards, lips twisted in a frown. The weight of his thoughts was draped heavily over his features. He ignored both Glenn and Maggie, locking eyes with Rick.

"Hey, Shane," Rick greeted easily, but his heart was pounding rapidly in warning.

"I need to talk to you."

Before Rick could reply, Glenn clapped him on the shoulder. "We'll be in your room," he said in parting, grabbing Maggie's hand and tugging her away.

Shane turned without another word and strode towards his room. Rick followed him to the other end of the hall quietly. He realized, as he watched the stretch of muscles beneath his friend's t-shirt, that he had yet to see inside Shane's room so far this year, it was almost the middle of October. He swallowed as a sense of foreboding settled in his stomach like a stone.

Shane strode into the room, Rick following behind him and closing the door with a click. As soon as it was shut, Shane spun on his heel, radiating anger so palpable Rick thought he could reach out and touch it, if he dared. "Lori's birthday is in a few weeks."

Rick blinked; this was not what he had expected. Granted, he wasn't exactly sure what he had expected, or what he was even doing there, but he could say for sure that it wasn't this. "I—know that," he said paying close attention to keeping his voice level. He knew Shane in a temper was like dealing with a cobra coiled and waiting to strike. In order to court Shane's anger, Rick had to transform into a mongoose, swaying and dancing away from the strikes that came swiftly and without mercy.

"What're ya' gettin' her?"

"I—don't know." Rick was officially baffled.

"That's what I thought." Shane spun on his heel again, turning away from Rick to look out the window, a hand coming up to card through the back of his black hair in frustration—a gesture Rick was intimately familiar with. Something had really made its home under Shane's skin.

"What's this all about, man?" Rick asked, quiet and steady.

"You," Shane bit out, whirling back around and striding across the room in the blink of an eye. He pointed at Rick, pressing his index finger against Rick's sternum.

Rick took a step backwards, not out of fear, but to dislodge the uncomfortable feeling of Shane's finger digging into his flesh. He pushed Shane's arm away from him.

"And?" Rick asked, his voice.

"Dixon."

"Shane, we've been over this. I'm not gonna tolerate you slanderin' Daryl. He's my friend." Rick moved his hands to his hips, cocking his head to the side, trying to catch Shane's brown eyes with his own.

"Friend?" Shane sneered, finally meeting Rick's eyes from where he'd been staring at a spot past his shoulder. "You sure 'bout that?"

"You ain't implyin' what I think you are. Are ya'?" Rick's voice cracked slightly. His insides felt like he'd drunk nitrogen, cold and liquefied.

Shane narrowed his eyes. "So, what if I am?"

"Jesus, fuck, man. You've known me since we were in diapers. Don't ya' think I woulda told ya' if I was gay?"

"I don't fuckin' know man, ya' been so far up Dixon's asshole lately I'd be more surprised at this point if ya' weren't." Shane tore his gaze away from Rick with a sneer of disgust, shaking his head as if to dislodge the thought.

Rick swallowed past the bile rising in his throat, pinching the inside of his cheek between his molars to keep the prickling at the back of his eyes from forming into tears. "So what if I was?" His voice was thick; he could feel his words sliding up his throat like acid.

"The fuck?" Shane took a step back, his dark eyes searching Rick's own in confusion. "You ain't gay. You can't be, man. What about Lori?"

"Not that it matters, but sexuality ain't black and white, Shane."

Shane snorted derisively.

"I can't believe we're havin' this conversation."

"If ya' fuckin' hurt her, I'm goin' to kick my boot so far up your ass you ain't never gonna be able to fuck yer stupid faggot."

Rick's fist collided with Shane's powerful jaw before he could even think. The pain of his knuckles colliding with bone vibrated all the way up his arm, and he felt something crack. He hoped that he hadn't broken his hand. Shane's fingers brushed over where Rick's hand had split the pale pink skin of his bottom lip. They stared at each other in shock, Shane's pupils blown wide and Rick's fist still raised and bloody.

"Don't—ever—call him that again."

"Rick—" Shane tried, but Rick had already turned and yanked the door open.

He didn't give Shane a chance to say more, slamming the flimsy plywood behind him. The noise reverberated down the hall, echoing in his ears at the same pace of his pounding heart. He finally opened up his fist, a twinge of pain running through his middle finger, but he was pretty sure it wasn't broken. His head felt light, and he realized belatedly that his hand was shaking. He pushed a little too forcefully off the wall next to Shane's room that he'd been leaning against and walked down the hallway in a daze, feet dragging on the stained carpet of the corridor.

He raised his hand to knock before noticing the faint smear of blood on his knuckles and, dropping his hand back down to his side, tucked it behind his back. Someone must've heard him on the other side of the door, though, because suddenly in the place of blank white nothingness he was looking at the sky. Except, that couldn't be right, because it was raining…and how did the sky get inside?

He blinked and Daryl's face came into view, those thin lips twisted down in a frown, a towel around his neck and his hair in disarray. "Ya' all righ', Rick?"

Rick cleared his throat, and vaguely felt himself rubbing his knuckles against the inside of his jeans' back pocket. He looked directly into Daryl's eyes, and felt something dropping in his stomach, like the floor had given away beneath him. He swallowed thickly.

"No." His voice was hoarse and quiet. He'd almost forgotten there were people just on the other side of Daryl's body.

Daryl narrowed his eyes—those observant eyes, dissecting and cataloging Rick like he was a particularly rare specimen, sliced open and pinned on a cold metal table. "Okay." Daryl turned away to address the crowd of people behind him. "I jus' 'membered, I got a shitload of homework ta' get started on. So's get ya' sorry asses up."

Rick could hear sighs of disappointment and Glenn loudly complaining before Andrea offered to move the party to her place. With the new location set, they filed out past Daryl and Rick, who was still standing in the doorway. He did his best to keep his face neutral, though he didn't know if he's succeeded entirely by the way Michonne's eyes roamed over him as she moved by, her hand trailing delicately across the front of his shirt. He wouldn't be surprised if her sensitive fingers could feel the turmoil boiling beneath the layers of flesh and bone and blood.

Rick strode into the room, passed Daryl, and collapsed onto his bed, face first in his pillow, tears soaking into the cotton. His shame seeped into the fabric, getting lost in the thousand thread count. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to punch something…again. He wanted to scream into his pillow. Paralyzed by his own treacherous body, he did none of these things. He was acutely aware of Daryl hovering by his hip, yet he could do nothing but try and breathe.

"Rick?" The sound of Daryl's voice was muffled by the sea of cotton he'd buried his head in. Suddenly, there was a hesitant, feather light touch against the top of his head. He felt fingers card once through his hair, tugging gently at the curls on the nape of his neck. It sent pleasant jolts of electricity all the way down to his toes. He turned his head slightly, one eye opening to look at his roommate, who had retracted his hand with incredible speed. It hung by Daryl's side, unmoving.

"Ya' all righ', man? The fuck happened to ya'?"

"I ran into Shane." Rick sighed heavily, pushing himself up and twisting his legs under him to sit cross-legged on the bed. Daryl surprised him by sitting down next to him, not close enough to touch, but Rick could feel that radiating heat again. It made his stomach roll, and he tucked his head into his chest. Daryl was watching him between pieces of spiky wet hair, like he was looking out at him from behind a thicket of thorns.

"And?" Daryl prompted, chewing on his lip, peeling white flecks of skin off and leaving smooth pale strips behind.

Rick watched the saliva glisten on Daryl's bottom lip before swallowing thickly and looking into those blue, now-familiar irises. "And I—I punched him." He forced the words out, feeling the shaking begin in his hands again. He put them on his knees, the offending appendage closest to Daryl, who, of course, saw the faint smear of blood instantly.

Daryl's eyes flashed like lightening, with a white-hot fury that Rick had barely only glimpsed before. Rick looked away, out at the storm still raging outside. The droplets against the window raced down the glass with a frightening urgency that Rick felt in his own gut. Rick could hear Daryl's jaw seesawing back and forth, grinding the words in his mouth, chewing them over in contemplation.

So, Rick filled the silence. "We've been friends for nineteen years. We've had our scuffles before—Shane ain't the most level-headed man on the best of days—but never once have I thrown the first punch. I'm not that kind of man. I—I don't know…"

Daryl's hand came down heavy onto Rick's shoulder. It felt like he was reaching down and dragging Rick up from underneath the waters of his own self-loathing, waves and currents that had been strangling him without respite.

"'m sure ya' had a good reason."

Daryl was staring at Rick. He could feel it on the side of his face, but he couldn't bring himself to turn his head and make eye contact. He hummed noncommittally, instead.

"Ya' wanna talk 'bout it?"

Rick turned towards Daryl then, the movement causing Daryl to drop his hand from Rick's shoulder. The missing contact left him floundering in his head again and he reached out, slowly, to touch the bare knee exposed through a rip in Daryl's jeans. He could feel Daryl's thigh muscle tense for a moment, heard his breath hitch, before Daryl relaxed under his touch. Rick pulled away after a moment, knowing that the contact wouldn't be welcome for long. When Rick looked back, Daryl's eyes were hard as diamonds.

"He…said—" Rick started and then cleared his throat. "He called you a faggot." The words felt like shards of glass as they came out, ripping his throat raw.

Daryl lurched forward, but Rick's hand shot out, grabbing him around his hip bone and grounding Daryl down onto the bed.

"Hey." His voice was calm and the warmest it had been in the past hour.

Daryl's hand came up in a fist, but Rick didn't flinch away, knowing that, if Daryl decided to punch him in the face, he deserved it, at least. Surprisingly though, Daryl dropped his hand to Rick's wrist, gently pulled his hand away from his hip and placed it back in Rick's own lap, like he was a small child being reprimanded for trying to pick up trash off the ground.

There was something in the depths of Daryl's fathomless blue eyes that Rick couldn't quite place, but he was reminded once again of an ever-expanding stretch of bright blue sky. As soon as Rick thought he'd begun to figure out the emotion shining through like sunlight, Daryl broke their stare, dropping his eyes to the corner of his sheets across the small space that dangled towards the ground. He pulled his towel from around his neck and dropped it into Rick's lap without a word.

Rick took the hint and began to scrub away the scant amount of dried blood. When it was mostly gone he reached his arm up and tossed the towel over Daryl's head. It hit the side of the hamper and slid to the floor. They watched it settle in silence, the roll of thunder and rain outside the only sounds in the tiny dorm aside from their even breathing.

Without preamble, Daryl stood and moved across the small space, towards the bathroom. The warmth that Rick had felt was gone, as if suddenly a cloud had moved in front of the sun. Daryl's boots squeaked on the tile, and Rick noticed for the first time that Daryl had yet to change out of his still-damp clothes. Rick blinked at the observation; he'd been gone for at least fifteen minutes, plenty of time for the man to change into something drier.

Daryl hovered in the doorway, his back to Rick, like he was thinking of saying something else. He opened his mouth to speak but discovered that his voice had gone missing, unsure in the wake of Daryl's abrupt absence. Before Rick could find the words, Daryl stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. Rick got a sinking feeling in his gut, like there were miles between them instead of a single, measly piece of wood.