His head felt heavy. The stench of alcohol and body odour filled the room that was steadily turning into a particularly foul smelling sauna with the sun now peaking in. With a groan, Daryl forced himself to sit up, resting his aching head in a palm before taking a look around.

They were home alright - an unkept trailer that was in need of many repairs, but not as desperately as it needed a good scrub. Loud, almost thundering, repetitive growl from across the room indicated that Merle made it back too. Given his own condition and knowing he went nowhere near as hard on booze, Daryl suspected his brother was to face a nasty hangover upon awakening.

Prompting his back against the wall his old tattered sleeping mat was next to, Daryl scanned the room. He was uncertain as for what he was looking for as the place was the same dumpster it's always been. Empty beer cans and filthy plates were scattered across the floor, combined with other litter and some odd bits and bobs Merle would bring home as keepsakes.

However, a mindless investigation of the surroundings had soon proven to be fruitful. Daryl's eyes stopped on something that hasn't been there a day earlier. A pair of lacy emerald green knickers. Unlike most fabrics in the house, it was not all washed out either, and therefore the crisp colour made it pop out like a flower in a desert.

Having collected what was left of his strength, Daryl forced himself up. He instantly felt dizzy and his head throbbed in a protest, but it was becoming unbearable to stay in the room. And, frankly, dealing with a headache was a lesser evil than being sick from pungent stench, lack of oxygen and a raging hangover. Slowly, manoeuvring between all the crap on the floor, Daryl navigated to the front door and pushed it open.

A gust of fresh air hit him right in a face, taking his breathe away for a second. Compared to how stuffy it was inside, the weather felt much colder than what it truly was. Judging by the morning dew still fresh on the grass, it was around 10 AM, he deduced.

With a groan, the man crouched down to sit on the stairs, reaching into a pocket to fetch a cigarette. To his dismay, the box was not there - he has possibly dropped it last night. Such assumption would then unlock the next stage of a hangover: the recollection of what went down.

After his encounter with Leanne, Daryl has eventually returned to the party. The girl he's been chatting with earlier, Donna, was now part of a bigger group that shared drinks and laughs with some of Merle's goons and hasn't as much as registered his return. Not that it mattered; somehow the warning heeded by the redhead made him lose any interest he's harboured towards Donna.

Well, since he was already there, Daryl decided not to ponder on his chances of getting laid. These were underage girls after all, and while this would be along milder illegal shit he's done, he wasn't entirely sure whether this was his cup of tea. Girls normally had too much drama around them, and the younger, more privileged ones, certainly would be loaded with it. And thus he chose to get drunk as there wasn't much else to do.

As expected, alcohol did the job of lulling naive city girls into loosening up, as well as revealing not many of them were actually accustomed to alcohol. Daryl was merely buzzed up by the time most of their prey was blackout drunk. From grossly making out with his mates to inconsolable sobbing, the girls have portrayed different stages of intoxication. This was a perfect opportunity for him to take a more active stance and get some game going on for the night, but somehow Daryl didn't feel up for it.

It had little to do with his morals. He's slept with plenty of dead drunk women before and has never truly felt guilty for it. He has been involved with those below the age of consent too. It's just there was some sort of a mental block this time, something Daryl couldn't quite put his finger on. And therefore he remained an observer of the mess, clearing one can after another as he watched.

As expected, he wasn't fully immune to booze either and soon his brain would get foggy too. He has even joined a few conversations and let couple of girls to sit in his lap, but nothing past this point. At this stage, Daryl's memories were getting blurry. The last definite thing he could recall was that, unsurprisingly, things got messy and noisy enough for the adults to show up. With many details of their flight gone from his brain, all he could remember was hastily stumbling through the woods. Even though they were drunk as skunks and their pursuers had flashlights, there was no way any of them could get caught in the woods, not by the big city snobs.

Daryl huffed. Now the camp was alert of their presence it was unlikely they could pull something like this off again. Not that he was saddened by the fact; he didn't really care. However, the same feeling that prevented him from hooking up with any of the girls last night was prevalent again. Now, being sober, Daryl could finally identify it.

The redhead. Something about her was the root of this unsettling feeling that caused him unrest. Even with their encounter being a short exchange of snarks, he could tell Leanne was a bitch. But, oddly enough, this was the trait that made her stand out and therefore fed into his curiosity.

It's not like he had a crush on her or anything - hell, he didn't even get to see her face properly. The vagueness about her felt like a challenge, and what Daryl was truly interested in was seeing whether the edgy image she painted of herself was a gimmick. It was difficult for him to imagine someone from the city would be anything but a good kid and this was nothing but a rebellious phase she was going through.

In other words, although he struggled to admit it to himself, Daryl wanted to see the redhead again. Potentially to have a bit of a longer conversation to dig further in order to prove himself she was nothing but a tough cookie wannabe. And after that? He wasn't sure nor would bother thinking this far ahead. Realistically, the chances of crossing paths with her again were slim.

Even if they still had free access to the camp, Leanne has clearly stated not being interested in hanging out with the flock. And if they happened to run in one another by any chance, there was no guarantee she would be inclined to talk. The accidental encounter last night was cut pretty short as the redhead would retreat as soon as she was done with the joint, therefore, he figured, she had little interest in him.

Daryl was then hit by realisation that instantly froze the entirety of his insides. It wasn't Leanne that appeared utterly uninterested in continuing the conversation. It was him. The words of her jokingly asking whether he wanted her to join the party echoed through his already sore head. He could have said yes. Of course, there was no guarantee his answer would have impacted Leanne's decision, but the way the things stood suggested he has blown her off. In other words, she left him an opening. The fuck up was on him.

With another groan, Daryl hit himself on the forehead. The weight of his foolishness was increasing by a second. Now he certainly needed to speak with her again; to apologise for being an idiot. But was he really? Or was he just over thinking it and reading into a situation that was never there?

"Women are fucking complicated."

He finally muttered to himself.

"Are they, little brother?"

Merle responded, stumbling out as well and leaning against the door frame. Daryl has been so lost in his thoughts he didn't realise the audible snoring has ended a while back and therefore his embarrassing little remark was now at the mercy of his sibling.

The older Dixon laughed in the usual mocking manner he seemed to save to Daryl specifically.

"By the looks of you last night, it's dick you want and not tits. But that's fine."

Daryl was used to jabs at his masculinity and was going to let this slide, but the second sentence was what alerted him. It was clear as a day, Merle had something on his mind and he could bet his life on it not being of a good nature. Narrowing his eyes a little, Daryl didn't respond. Silence as an answer was enough for Merle to continue.

"Tell you what, brother. Them bitches were a good sport but it seems we ain't getting that honey pot easily again. But don't you worry. Ol' good Merle knows what to do...What you say?"

Daryl turned his head to look at his brother. The smug look on his face strongly suggested that whatever the backup plan was, it would get messy and he most certainly didn't want to be part of it. On the other hand, his need to see Leanne has doubled in urgency now that he convinced himself of a fuck up.

Finally, Daryl flashed a half smile back at his brother before giving a small nod.

"Count me in."