a knock on your door wasn't uncommon, but one in the dead of night was confusing. you were half asleep, hoping it would just go away. you’d figure it out in the morning if it was important. the knocks, however, persisted for much longer than expected. when you finally went to answer it, though, they had stopped, and you swung open the door to look.
daryl dixon was pissing in your yard. grumbling to himself, he swayed while he peed in your bushes. once he realized you had seen him, he quickly tucked himself away and cleared his throat, struggling to stay balanced. "y'didn't answer the door, i had t'piss," he slurred.
you didn't look impressed, but quickly realized he was drunk. so, instead of yelling at him to scram and leave you alone, you let the pathetic man in your house. sitting him down at the center island, you got to work grabbing him some water and bread. he felt out of place, being taken care of like this. but god, he loved being in your home. it smelled like you, made him warm and floaty. he liked your hands, small and soft, grabbing him a glass. too drunk to think, daryl’s lips moved before his brain did, and he made a fool of himself.
"you smell good," he mumbled. "y'look nice. thanks fer this. sorry i pissed in yer yard."
you sighed, tired eyes focused on getting daryl water. a shake of your head, and you shoved it in his palm. “slow sips. if you vomit on my carpet, i’m makin’ you lick it up.”
“yes, ma’am,” daryl muttered, head down in shame.
watching him take small sips begrudgingly, you kept your arms folded. “you piss on my daisies?” you asked flatly.
daryl paused, blinking slow. he didn’t fucking know. had no idea. he barely remembered doing it. a shrug.
you sighed, rubbing the bridge of your nose, before making an executive decision to walk over and grab the glass. you examined his face, glassy eyes, the kicked puppy frown.
“you’re a messy drunk,” you murmured, reaching up to stroke his cheek.
daryl flinched, before leaning into it, “yeah… i know.”
“it is…” daryl chewed the inside of his cheek. “was jus’… thinkin’. about’cha. wanted to… see you.”
“you drank before you got here, though,” you clarified, hand falling from his face. “so what was up before?”
daryl didn’t answer. instead, he leaned in, and let his forehead rest on your shoulder. you could’ve pried it out of him, but you couldn’t help wrapping your arms around him. “you’re an idiot,” you whispered.
“you smell nice,” daryl mumbled.
“you mentioned that,” you rolled your eyes.
a/n: here have this while i spiral into oblivion. thanks for your patience & support as always. mwah.
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tangentwithtanner
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