Yeah, sitting around waiting for the dead to pass isn't really conducive to knowing how long you're out. But it's normal, expected. He just hadn't realized how much time he'd spent under that house. But it's fine now: he's back. He's probably not actually going to go out for a while, in part because he's going to need a minute but mostly because he's going to be fussed at. So much fussing.

It's a moment in which he appreciates the consideration, as ridiculous as it may be. He leans into it when Daryl rubs the towel though before lifting it enough to look at him with the most deadpan, unimpressed look he can muster. Not strangling, but definitely sassing. By the time Daryl gets back he's basically dry and his hair is just kind of damp and messy. He's leaning on the counter and the fact it's pajamas isn't lost to him as he takes them and gets dressed. "Cute, very cute." The comment, not the pajamas.

Now it's Jesus' turn to look kind of like a sulky damp cat. Instead of focusing on that though, he moves over to the older man, arms wrapping around his torso and hands hooking back over his shoulders from behind before his forehead drops to rest against him in the vicinity of his collarbone. It's not desperate, just something tired and quiet. He breathes out slow, decompressing.