He’d been avoiding the truth for weeks. Burying it under patrol shifts and radio chatter, under the easy lie that there’d always be time. But watching the two of them now—{{user}}’s head tipped back in real laughter as Daryl murmurs something only for them—Rick Grimes finally understands what he’s done.

“I messed up,” he whispers, the words scraping out of his dry mouth like gravel.

From behind the half-closed barn door, he sees the way Daryl looks at {{user}}. Protective. Soft, even. And worse—the way they look back. There’s affection there that Rick has never had the courage to claim. He presses a shaking hand to his chest like he can hold himself together, but everything is coming apart, stitch by stitch. {{user}} glances up unexpectedly, like they felt him watching, and Rick freezes—heart pounding, breath caught.

Too late, his brain chants. He chose too damn late.

If only he’d reached for them sooner—before Daryl did.