Rickyl oneshots

Rickyl- Drunk Flirt (EDITED)

"Hey, Daryl!" Glenn called, his voice slow and slurred. Daryl glanced over from one end of the room while his friend stumbled over to the other. Two unopened bottles clutched in hand, he offered, "Want one?" Daryl politely waved a hand, rejecting the opportunity.

He smiled fondly at the lightweight, hoping greatly his distant presence hadn't alerted nor guilt-tripped the other. "Nah, I'm good." 

How unusual. The redneck often loved to have a drink or two-- was known to have a drink or two. For him, it was as easy as saying one, two, three. While friends gathered around, cracking open that cold frosted can, it was the first step to an easy night. The perfect excuse to kick back, prop those sore legs up on that dusty furniture table, and celebrate all those who struggled through yet another troublesome day. 

Tonight, however, something about doing so made him feel uneasy. Frustration was ticking, setting in. Kicking the leg of the stool he was perched on with the heel of his boot, Daryl sighed. Dramatically, it was just one of those nights-

And as simple as such, Glenn weakly nodded, turned, and swayed away. Observing the younger, unrelenting twists and turns winded up in Daryl's system like a rough punch to the gut. At the sight, it couldn't be helped how much he felt like the guilt-tripped fool.

"Glenn-"
And at the sound of Daryl's voice, Glenn spun around holding up the green-glassed bottle in his right hand like a robot on default. You could've guessed the kid spent his whole life training as a waiter with those reflexes. Daryl was startled, raising both hands to fan up in continuous refusal; that's not what he had meant. 

"I don't plan on drinkin' anythin' tonight," Daryl concluded as he reached forward, gently snatching both bottles and setting them beside the counter. Glenn threw himself on the nearest couch, eyelids beginning to close up shop.

"Sure...sure. Just don't give... Carl any..." and with less than 0.1 seconds to spare, snores could be heard from the Korean. Another endearing smile won in his favor. 

"You're so gone," Daryl whispered grabbing a blanket and draping it over his friend. "Have fun with that soon-to-be-hangover." 

With a few murmurs and more unresponsive snores later, Daryl grew tired of the second-hand silent treatment and dismissed himself out the door. 

Lounging on the old creaky steps, he paused a moment to peer down at the old rotting wood he sat upon. Bold and proud, old cuts indented the decaying wood. Once known as product carved with love and care, grew only to be mistreated and abused by its passerby's, it's surface crying out like the first step could be the end of its long-lived lifespan. Flecks and chunks of paint are torn right off its exterior worse than any walker Daryl had ever seen.

Now looking up at the sky, none other than the full-moon floated up to make a spectacular nightly debut--more so, to pass out that familiar greeting to those who knew her well. Daryl pondered how much light that ancient rock contained as she glowed happily and brightly, outlining the dark-black abyss.

As pretty as she was, like the night, something felt off.

"Where are them stars, eh?"

"Guess they decidin' not to show."

Daryl jolted upright when a new voice greeted his ears. Craning his neck to see who his mystery man was, Rick plopped himself down on the step above Daryl's. He said not a word to the other man and the hunter's shoulders began to relax once more. 

"Where'd you come from?" A rhetorical question, one might add.

Rick stared at the ground, a shake of the head being that fragile crutch sparing the two from a preceding awkward moment. "I just... ya know. Worryin'...and thinkin'...lots goin' on in the ol' noggin."