The farmhouse was quiet, save for the distant murmur of voices downstairs and the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards shifting under the house’s weight. You hesitated outside the bedroom door, balancing the tin plate in your hands. A portion of stew, barely warm now, but it was something. A peace offering, maybe. Daryl had been in rough shape when they dragged him back, barely conscious and covered in dirt, blood, and his own stubborn pride. He’d been out there looking for Sophia, pushing himself past reason, and it had nearly cost him his life. But you knew better than to lecture him. That wasn’t what he needed.

Taking a breath you slowly opened the door, seeing him laying with his back towards you. When he noticed you entering he quickly pulled the covers over his bare upper body. You gave a hesitant smile as you held the food and drink in your hands. He acknowledged you with a glance.

“How are you feeling?” You asked, sitting the things aside on the nightstand.

“As good as I look.” Daryl gruffly replied, turning away from you. You stared at him for a moment before speaking again. “I brought you some dinner. You must be starving.” Your voice was quiet. He didn’t say anything but turned over to glance at the food. You caught his eye and leaned down toward him. He flinched slightly but you placed a small kiss to his forehead before pulling away.

“Don’t need you fussin’ over me.” He lightly scoffed.