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Daryl Dixon (littledixon) wrote in makebelievelog,

This position wasn't so bad. Daryl could probably pass out here if he wanted. He could just let his eyes slide closed and then pass the fuck out without a goddamned care. Who needed a bed anyway? He curled his arm around his head before managing to rest his forehead against his forearm. And there we go, a goddamn pillow even. It wasn't so bad. He's slept in shittier conditions even before the world went to shit; this wouldn't be too hard, and he was so goddamned sleepy. He had actually started to drift off into dreamland when he heard the voice. Not just any voice. Her voice.

He groaned, not because he didn't want her presence, but because the thought of having to respond seemed to take so much effort when he'd been quite happy with passing out right here. But he did manage to lift his head just enough to turn it so that he could peer at her from over his bicep, his eyes squinted against the haze of alcohol. He didn't really consider not answering it; he was just too out of it to come up with an answer right away. So, for almost twenty full seconds, all he did was stare at her. Well, all three of her, as the case seemed to be.

"...Can't find our room..." he mumbled out, kind of pathetically as he all but pouted at the admission.