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The distant chatter of voices and laughter drift through the cool evening air. You had just ducked out of Deanna’s welcome party and were on your way back to the house everyone was sharing. Rick asked the group to at least make an appearance, so you did, and that was good enough.
Behind you, you hear a rustle in the bushes. Instinctively, you reach for the knife on your hip.
But when Daryl stumbles towards out of the bush, you lower it.
“Jesus, Daryl,” you say, sheathing your knife. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Whadayamean?” he slurs.
“Are you alright?” you ask, stepping towards him.
“‘m fine,” Daryl says. He tries to lean on the bush, but the branch gives way and he nearly tumbles to the ground.
Oh my god. Daryl’s drunk.
You stifle a laugh as you reach a hand out to him. Daryl takes it, so you pull him up and wrap an arm around his waist. He drapes his heavy one around your shoulders.
“Alright, Big Guy,” you tell him. “Let’s get you home.”
You and Daryl make your way to the house, slowly. His unsteadiness almost causes you both to fall a few times, but you eventually make it to the porch in one piece.
“Watch your step,” you say to him. Daryl comically picks his foot up way higher than necessary, resulting in him stomping up the stairs. You laugh.
“Wha’s so funny?” Daryl asks as you open the front door.
“I’ve never seen you like this before,” you answer, guiding him inside.
“Huh, well,” Daryl squints at you. “I’ve neva seen you so….pretty.”
You nearly drop him on the floor. Pretty? You want to ask him more, but you shake your head. He’s drunk. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. So instead, you drag him towards the nearest couch and drop him on it. He falls in a heap with a soft grunt.
You yank his boots off of his feet. Then, you grab a blanket and toss it on him. Daryl rests his head on a pillow, his narrow eyes watching you.
When you start walking to the kitchen, you hear him mumble, “Come back.”
“I’m just getting you some water. You’ll thank me in the morning,” you reply, laughing again. You quickly fill a glass from the faucet and bring it back to him.
“Here,” you say, sitting on the edge of the couch. Daryl takes the cup and gulps it down in one sip. You take it back, and place it on the end table.
Before you can get up, Daryl wraps his arm around your waist and starts to lay down, pulling you down with him.
“Daryl-”
“C’mere,” he murmurs, pulling you flush against him. He fumbles with the blanket, wrapping you in it.
“Daryl,” you try again, but when he nuzzles into your neck, shushing you, you give in. You feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back. It’s soothing, and your eyes start to feel heavy.
When the others finally return from the party, curious about the whereabouts of their two friends, they are surprised when they find the two of you curled up on the couch, fast asleep.