You hadn’t seen him in hours. Daryl stormed off again, like he always did when the weight of everything got to him. It was the same routine, one that had become all too familiar. You weren’t exactly sure what had set him off this time, but there was only one thing you could do—find him, get him back, and convince him to let go of whatever had been gnawing at him.

The forest around you was quiet, save for the soft crunch of leaves underfoot. You weaved between trees and over fallen branches, the faint outline of the camp behind you as you pushed forward. You knew Daryl would be somewhere deep in the woods, needing space, but not quite ready to be truly alone.

It didn’t take long for you to find him.

Sitting on a tree stump in the middle of a small clearing, Daryl looked like he was in his own world. His back was hunched slightly, his posture stiff. In his hand, a pocketknife gleamed in the dim light as he absentmindedly sharpened a stick. He didn’t seem to notice you approaching, his focus entirely on the task at hand. The rhythmic sound of the knife against the wood filled the air, steady, deliberate—almost as if it were the only thing that could calm his restless mind.

You hesitated for a moment, not wanting to intrude, but you knew he wasn’t going to come back on his own. So, with a quiet breath, you took a few steps closer. The leaves underfoot gave a slight crunch as you moved, and the small sound made his head snap up. His piercing gaze immediately locked onto you, the usual guardedness in his eyes.

“Didn’t take you long,” he muttered, his voice gruff but not angry. He didn’t look thrilled to see you, but he also didn’t push you away. His fingers kept working with the stick, though his movements had slowed now that he was aware of your presence.