Everything Daryl picked up while out on runs he gave to Connie: notebooks, their pages warped with damp; scraps of silk, carefully sewn together with bloody fingers to create a scarf; chocolates, wrapped in foil and slightly discoloured. His eyes scanned the crowd for her every time, standing up on his motorbike until he saw her, the smile he so craved on her face.

"Safe?" She signed before cupping his face, thumbs running over the scratch of his beard. Daryl nodded, the gesture larger, a private smile just for her as she leant in to bump her nose against his.