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“Hey you, boy. Outta my room.”
Oh man, how drunk was Y/N? Because that was all slurred. And why were they telling Daryl to get out of his own room?
He kept walking into the room (his damned room) towards the cot he’d set up. Oops, shit, he stumbled. Daryl supposed he was pretty drunk too – but not Y/N’s level, no way was he that wasted. Just look at them, spinning around on the office chair like some kid.
“Daryl, my good lad! You must away, my Appalachian friend! For I do not wish to share my lodgings with anyone!” they sing-songed at him. Yeah, that’s right, sing-songed. In some accent, too, like...British or whatever. And “my good lad?” The fuck?
“Oh, but hold the phone!” They stopped spinning on the chair by grabbing the desk. “What have you got in that leetle bottle there?” Uh, alright, what accent was that one? Russian or something?
Daryl supposed that at least they weren’t singing no more.
“Ah, and he still has his leetle bottle of Southern Comfort, yes,” they babbled on. Daryl may have grumbled in response just then, but it was pretty damned funny, he had to admit.
“You may be big strong huntsman, yes, but that bottle is far too big for one man to consume!” they boomed. Still in that Russian accent.
Okay, now they were doing that thing where someone pretends to have a lasso. And now they just “threw” it on him.
Daryl grumbled again...then reluctantly went along with the lasso pulls until he was right in front of them.
Y/N lifted up their arms in triumph and cried out “Thank you, good sir!” before taking the bottle from his hands. Also, the British accent was back. They tipped their head back and took a big gulp.
At any rate, Daryl was that close to laughing out loud when he saw their reaction to the stuff.
“Ah, spicy! With essence of, ahem, either cherries or Pine-Sol,” they sputtered.
“Losin’ your accent some there?”
“Or have I just taken on a spankin’ brand new one, Mr. Dixon?” they now drawled, handing him back the bottle of liquor. Good timing, he was in need of another swig right about now.
Daryl sighed. He should’ve known that Y/N would use a southern accent eventually.
Damn, but did they make an obnoxious drunk. And yes, they were back to spinning around of that chair now.
“Boy howdy, do I enjoy how this accent feels! It’s terrible nice, I do declare!”
“That ain’t what I sound like,” Daryl protested, cracking up despite himself.
“That ain’t what I sound like,” they repeated, and in an unnervingly close mimic of what he actually sounded like.
Oh come on! Now Y/N just flopped onto the cot and started giggling at the ceiling. That was his damned cot.
“You always this obnoxious when you been drinkin’?” he groaned.
“I dunno, you tell me,” they whined back.
He took another swig. “And you’re in my bed, you realize? My room?”
“If it’s your bed, Mr. Smartypants, then why am I in it?”
Damn it, and why was Daryl cracking up again?
“I ain’t my fault this were the only unoccupied room, cowboy,” they went on, slurring their words and...rolling back and forth on the cot? What were they, five?
“Fine, fine, just help me grab another one from the supply closet,” he grunted back. This was ridiculous.
“Oh no, the big strong wrangler is afraid to share the homestead with little ole me!”
What? Share the – what? Shit, and why was he blushing? Damn it, what the fuck? Daryl looked at the bottle of Southern Comfort and glared at it for having made him so drunk he was getting all nervous around Y/N. And that better be him fixing to throw up, and not butterflies in his stomach! Damned hassle, tell you what.
“Wait, I know what to do!” Y/N shouted, standing up on the bed. “Daryl Dixon, I have solved the problem! Solved it like none other before me, I tell you!” They slid back into their British accent for that little announcement. So damn obnoxious.
Oh, were they waiting for him to respond or something?
“What, Y/N?” Daryl sighed.
“I! Shall partake! In my slumber: here!” And they – oh what the hell – they just jumped off the cot and onto the loveseat and then tumbled off. And God almighty, now they were a giggling and laughing mess, half on the floor, half on the loveseat, and they were really leaning into that damned British accent, tell you what.
“‘Tis quite perfect! In situating mine own self upon the loveseat, now I shan’t require the necessity to remove my body from this most wonderful recumbent state to assist you in getting a second cot!”
Where in hell they yank that sentence out of? Hot damn, Y/N…
He huffed, then stomped over to where they were dead-ass lounging on the ground with one leg on the couch. He then bent down, and put one arm around their shoulder to help hoist them up.
“C’mon now, don’t make me do all the work,” he ordered, very annoyed at this point. Whether it was because he felt even more funny in his stomach when he got close to them because they smelled really nice after their shower, or because they’d drunkenly overtaken his room, he wasn’t sure. Maybe both.
“Mm, so demanding, Mr. Dixon. You’re makin’ my heart go all aflutter,” they twittered back, accent reverted back to southern.
But Y/N was...joking, right? And Daryl was...also joking (on the inside?) when he realized that he liked it when they said that stuff, right?
Well, he considered, Y/N was drunk as a damned skunk. And he was also pretty tipsy, so that was probably definitely the reason why he was acting like an idiot. On the inside.
“So convenient that they had a loveseat in their office, right?” they mused aloud. “Oh, and don’t you go tryin’ nothing there, mister, or I shall kick you in the nuts and alert the sheriffs!”
Yeah, more like everyone was being alerted to everything that Y/N was saying this whole time. So damned obnoxious.
And it was so dumb that Daryl found himself holding back another damn laugh when they talked about kicking him in the nuts in that accent. It’s just...it sounded really funny the way they said it, is all.
“Oh! Say Daryl, do I smell nice? I showered!”
“Yup, I know,” he responded, exasperated. Y/N was now contentedly sprawled out on the loveseat, so he was doing his best to ignore how they were all splayed out like that.
“Ah, so I do smell nice!” they countered, giggling again. “It was so great to shower with hot water! You showered yet, Daryl Barrel ole chum?”
Daryl Barrel? Really? “I ain’t hopped in there yet, nah. Guess I might.”
“Listen to this guy, free hot shower and he’s like guess I might,” Y/N playfully ragged. But shit, how were they mimicking his voice that well? “Go on, enjoy it while you can. I’ll stay here and keep watch!”
“Keep watch for what?”
“Trouble. Or mischief,” Y/N winked.
Okay, that decided it. Cold shower, not a hot shower. He grabbed some clean clothes (clean-enough clothes) and beelined out of there.
Since when did Y/N make him all...like that? All nervous and shit? What a damned hassle. He was just grateful to get out of that room for a while.
Dale even stopped him in the hall and gently requested “Be sure to turn them on their side when they crash?”
Such a hassle.
So much a hassle that Daryl kept that water as cold as it could go. And riddle him what was with his spending-extra-time-scrubbing-his-armpits-to-make-sure-that-they-were-clean bullshit? And that he brushed his teeth for longer than normal?
Ridiculous.
And wouldn’t you know, in the short time it took for him to wash up and throw on some cleaner clothes, Y/N had fallen sound asleep on that little couch, lights still on.
Daryl grumbled again, tossed his dirty clothes into his bag, turned off the light, and settled himself down onto the cot, arms above his head. Such a damned hassle. It did feel nice to have showered, though.
He looked over at Y/N.
Damn it.
He grumbled yet again, got up, and was careful not to wake them as he turned them onto their side.
There, that should do it. He started to quietly walk back to his cot when he stopped. He looked back again. Y/N was gonna be cold when they woke up after getting so hammered. They needed a blanket.
Ugh. He grumbled one final time, then grabbed his own blanket off the cot and tiptoed back to the loveseat. Carefully, delicately, he draped it over Y/N. They were was still completely out.
Okay, now he could go to sleep. Daryl slumped back onto his cot and settled himself again. As he drifted off, he tried not to think about Y/N or their smile. It was...dunno, nice or whatever.
Ugh. He turned over to his side and got comfortable.
Then to the other side...
Alright, maybe he’d fall asleep on his stomach?
Nope. Back to his back. He suddenly had it in his mind to quickly look up again to make sure Y/N was doing okay.
Yup. They were still sound asleep and breathing evenly. More like snoring evenly, but it was...cute.
At least sleep was tugging at his eyelids now. Good.
Oh yeah, he was definitely falling asleep fast.
And as he finally slipped completely into his dreams, he found himself mumbling “Such a damned hassle...”