When I knock, Carl answers, little bastard already taller than me at 5'6" to my 5'4". I tousle his hair on my way inside anyway, though it requires reaching upward to do so.
"Hey, kid," I grin when he glares at me, pushing his long hair back hastily with his fingers. "Where's your dad?"
"In here," Rick's voice calls from the kitchen before Carl can answer, and I see that, if I'd just looked, he's visible from where I'm standing. Amazing I've survived as long as I have. I nod to our leader but turn back to Carl first, lowering my voice.
"Enid here or something?"
The boy's face goes red, and he takes a step back. "No? Why?"
I shrug, eyeing the clean collared shirt he's put on. "No reason. You look nice."
"I can't just look nice? Just because?"
Now I'm rolling my eyes. "You're an idiot." I reach out and adjust the collar of the white-and-blue plaid shirt, noting that it brings out his eyes. "This?" I tug at Carl's shirt, meeting his eyes. "This was a good choice."
After a short, awkward silence, the kid finally smiles. "Maggie picked it."
"There it is." I break into another grin and release him, watching him place his dad's sheriff's hat on top of his head, like he did when he was much younger. "Go get 'er."
Carl shoots me a goofy grin and is out the door before Rick can even finish calling out "be safe".
I turn back to the kitchen to see Rick staring hopelessly over my shoulder after his son, holding what I think was supposed to be provisions for him and his new girlfriend. He catches my eye and shakes his head, dropping the little baggies of rations onto the kitchen counter. I shrug, matching his energy. "Teenagers."
Rick lets out a barely-there chuckle and moves to meet me in the living room, lowering himself onto the couch. Rick is a handsome man, in that slick, country-boy way; blue eyes, a nice stubble he keeps nicely shaven, toned and muscular. If I was falling primarily for older men, Rick definitely should be at the top of the list. And yet...
"What brings you by?" His question pulls me out of my thoughts, and I half expect him to be trying to shoo me away, but when I meet his eyes, there's nothing there but warmth. What some call "the old Rick". Based on his inviting glance, I sit beside him on the sofa, trying to ignore the delight I feel when the cushions sink like a freakin' cake.
I can't help it.
"Holy crap, this couch is nice," I mumble, laughing because I know that was a random and awkward thing to say, but it's how I felt, so I said it anyway. Rick cracks a grin, making him look even more handsome.
"It is," he nods at me, tilting his head slightly, and I realize he's kind of scrutinizing me, the way I've seen him do with Daryl, or Carol, or any of our other more reserved friends, which doesn't usually include me. He's trying to figure me out, which, I guess, is in his nature, being a cop and all.
'Or he just has crap to do and you're intruding.'
I did kinda just rush in here.
With a jolt, I realize I'm expected to continue, but I'm suddenly overrun with anxiety. Was Rick really the one to come to with this? Will this even scratch the surface of what's important to him?
'Probably not.'
My knee is bouncing, the way it's always done when I feel awkward and have nothing to say. Irritation flickers in Rick's ice blue eyes and immediately I feel guilty. I'm wasting his time.
'Make a choice, make a choice, make a--'
"Christ's sake, (y/n), spit it out." Rick doesn't snap, or raise his voice, but I retreat anyway, springing up from the comfy couch and grinning like a stupid person.
"Nothing! It-it's nothing, it's not important, I'm sorry, I--"
Rick touches my shoulder, his expression going soft, along with my nerves. He stares at me for a minute, doing his cop thing, until he smiles.
"You can talk to me. Hell, one of these kids has to."
'Kids.'
It's a joke that makes him break into a wide grin, so I crack a smile, despite myself.
'Get a damn grip.'
"I have a crush," I blurt out finally, very obviously catching the Sheriff off guard, "on.. well, a much older man."
Rick squints, raising one of his bushy eyebrows and slowly leaning away from me. It hits me that he thinks I mean him, and I scoff, swatting his still outstretched arm.
"Fuck off, it's not you!" I laugh, rolling my eyes and plopping onto the loveseat across from the couch to emphasize my point. He looks relieved, the whole hand-to-chest breath of relief and everything, but his grin fades into a smaller smile, more reserved, like I'm used to seeing. He's waiting for me to continue, but I just shrug, dropping his eyes and picking at the furniture covering instead.
"I dunno if I should tell you who it is. I dunno if it's 'right', or anything like that.. it's just.. not going away."
"How much older?"
I look up again, realizing with a jolt that I have no idea how old Daryl actually is. Definitely not twenty. Or thirty.
"Um.. like twice mine? Maybe? I dunno."
Something flickers in Rick's gaze, but he looks away before I can make out what it is.
"I don't think he likes me at all really," I continue, sort of just talking at this point, "you know? Honestly, I'm pretty sure he hasn't looked twice at me, or thought about me, like, ever."
I hate myself for throwing a "like" into that sentence, realizing that it must speak to my generation's vernacular. I don't consider myself immature, but I'm sure with phrases like that, I must sound a lot younger than I am. It's frustrating.
When I look back to Rick, he's once again studying me, and this time I toss a throw pillow in his direction, which he easily catches.
"Stop looking at me like that." I grumble, settling back into the plush chair.
"Who is it?"
I close my eyes like that can block out the question, sighing. I'm overcome with that same indecision that cripples me, torn between wanting a friend to confide in and not wanting the entire group to know what some of them already suspect. Or, rather, I don't want Daryl finding out what most suspect.
"(y/n)?"
When I open my eyes again, Rick is leaning forward, elbows on his knees, meeting my gaze intently. I don't want to lie to him. I don't think I really want to tell him, but if that were really the case, why did I come here? I needed his advice, his comfort, whatever he will offer me, I need it. I think.
"Daryl," my voice comes out a whisper and I have to clear my throat, cheeks flaming, and break eye contact with the man that's been like a father to me and also my crush's best fucking friend, "it's Daryl."
