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Carol's head is pounding and there's light in her eyes, so she rolls onto her stomach and frowns because her sheets are different than these. Not this free of cat hair and they are certainly not black. She forces herself to sit up despite the fact that she feels like she might vomit. It'd be a shame she thinks to puke on such good smelling sheets. She doesn't freak out. It's lucky that she's always been relatively calm when something happens. Because this is NOT her room, it's not even her apartment. The walls are dark grey, empty, and furniture minimalistic, organized. There are no stacks of books scattered across the floor and half on the bed, not like her own room. Not like her own house for that matter. If anything the barren walls would have told her this isn't her home before she even stepped out of this room.
Standing up with shaky legs, Carol's relieved to find that she's still wearing her own clothes. All of them. She remembers most of the night, right up until she was arguing with Daryl outside the bar. She's fairly confident his name is Daryl, that is. Everything after that is blank. She can't even remember a glimmer of the conversation or what lead her here. It's enough to have her stomach tighten and her lips pursing with unease. She's never been someone for one night stands and doesn't exactly agree with it. Her eyes scan the room again but sees nothing of interest.
The clanking of dishes and the hum of music coming from another room somewhere in the apartment lures her out of the bedroom. The logical part of her brain points out that she is unarmed and that her massive hangover debilitates her even further against an attacker. It's paranoid to assume the worst but she's running through a dozen scenarios in her mind that are far more worse than this possible situation, she hopes. What if she's been kidnapped? What if she gets sold on the black market? What if she's going to be murdered in the next five minutes? What if she isn't even at Daryl's but another strangers? Or worse what if Todd and Aurora somehow got her back to Todd's apartment after over hearing her argue with Daryl. She'll take being murdered over being at Todd's. It's all swirling in her mind and clouding out anything sane. It's enough to have her steps slowing and her breathing deepening.
She turns the corner, noting that the apartment is small and living room is barren except for a couch, coffee table, television mounted to the wall, and built in bookshelf. Despite her bleak inner rambling she's pleased to see that whoever it is does have a good amount of books on those shelves. Possibly a brain beyond basic human needs â air, water, and food. It's enough to make her snort because she's clearly not at Todd's. It looks like he's, she's assuming Daryl, just moved in to be honest. There is a few boxes in the middle of the living room and Carol stares at them for a minute longer than necessary. The music has gotten a little louder and now she can identify it as Pearl Jam. Of course, I'm going to die to the sound of Eddie Vedder's voice, she laughs to herself.
She barely has a foot in the kitchen when she stops dead in her tracks. Daryl is at the stove, masterfully flipping an omelet and what looks like pancakes. The smell of bacon is warm on the air and so is maple syrup. He's humming along with the music, wearing nothing but low-slung black sweatpants. She doesn't have time to admire the lean form for long though, as he turns towards her. Her face flushes red at having been caught staring at him. He says nothing outright but look he gives her tells her he knew what she'd been doing. Her shoulders tense and she takes on a defensive stance. If he didn't want someone to look at him then perhaps he shouldn't be dressed like that. Her mind hisses that it must be his house so he can dress with how much or how little he wants.
He smirks. "Good morning." She narrows her eyes at him as he hands her a glass of water and two pills. He laughs loudly at her expression causing her to flinch with pain from her headache. "I'm not trying to drug you. It's just aspirin." he jerks his head at her. "For that killer headache."
She scowls but takes the aspirin down with a swift drink of water. He snorts but says nothing as he drinks what she assumes is coffee from the smell. He's a disgusting morning person. No one sane is a morning person. This she believes wholeheartedly and it makes her scowl darken even more. He only smirks at her and goes back to what he was doing.
"Omelet? Pancakes?" He asks. When she doesn't answer, he sighs and scoops his food onto his plate. He eats with more manners than Todd. At least food isn't hanging from his mouth and dribbling down his chin. For a reason she doesn't want to acknowledge this pleases her. It's enough to wipe most of her scowl away.
"Where am I?"
He raises a brow at her. "I had hoped you were smart enough to figure that out on your own." He twirls his fork through the air as he says this. The piece of bacon and pancake threatening to fall. Syrup slips onto his thumb and he licks it up â ever removing his eyes from her.
"Your apartment, obviously." She says. "I meant why am I here?"
"You were going to walk home but you inconveniently fell asleep on my shoulder and wouldn't wake up. So I brought you here since I don't know where you live."
"We didn'tâĤ." She trails off, not sure how to finish her question. Her face heats again despite it being a honest question. He's doing that thing with licking the syrup up from his fingers and it's enough to make her already blush deepen.
He seems to understand though if his snort of amusement is any indication. "No. I don't take advantage of unconscious women." The growl to his voice isn't directed at her but it makes her brow climb all the same.
Carol nods and sits at the table. Daryl slides her the plate of pancakes and an omelet. "Thanks."
He wrinkles his nose at her and shakes his head. "You should put on some new clothes when you're done eating. You smell like someone poured liquor into a trash can and lit it."
She's scowling again. "I'll change when I'm home."
Daryl stands and Carol's eyes can't help but run along his smooth stomach. The hair that leads into the sweats tempting and at eye level. He disappears into the back of the apartment for a moment only to return carrying a t-shirt and a pair of sweat similar to his own. He hands them to her.
"There's a bathroom down the hall, to your left." It's very pointed.
Carol almost wants to smile. She isn't so use to a blunt man like this. Todd even at his worst was never one for trying to be bossy or rude for that matter. He'd never had much of a backbone. Daryl on the other hand doesn't seem to mind insulting her. It'd make her laugh if she wasn't trying to scowl so hard at him.
Instead she eyes the clothes. "These will be too big for me. In case you haven't noticed you're a lot taller than I am."
He eyes her then and Carol blinks. She isn't sure if she mistaken the heat there or if the hangover is messing with her. That's another thing she isn't use to. Men don't just look at you like that. Well the men she's use to being around. Instead she ignores that too and just goes to change. When she returns from the bathroom with Daryl's sweatpants rolled up to where she can walk without tripping and his shirt at her thighs â she finds him in the livingroom. He's unpacking and she know she was right about him just having moved in.
He looks over at her but she's too busy to notice. It's come to her attention that the clothes smell like him. It's a mixture of coffee and whatever body wash he uses. It's surprisingly pleasant. There is something underneath it that she doesn't know but it makes her mouth water all the same.
"I can drive you home." He offers.
Shaking her head. No, she really doesn't need to spend any more time than necessary around him. "I'll take a cab." He doesn't argue or offer again. If she expected him to then she'd be disappointed.
"I'll mail your clothes me back."
He's not looking at her again. Instead pulling things from the boxes he's got stacked. Instead he shrugs. "Keep them."
"Thanks again." She says. "For everything." She doesn't stay to hear his response but it feels lame all the same. When she closes the door behind her, she stares at the street. Her mouth slack. "You have got to be kidding me." Her own apartment is less than a block from him. So instead she walks home.