It's a testament to just how exhausted he was that he didn't do anything for his hair past that - he needs to deal with his beard too, but the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. Should've probably since now there's going to be a horrifying mess to deal with but he'd understandably had other things on his mind at the time. The way Daryl treats him carefully works - Jesus sleeps a little longer, both burrowed into and curled against his chest, breathing even and slow.
When he does wake it's slowly - he hasn't felt this comfortable in ages even though his joints and muscles are screaming in protest now that his body's had time to process everything that's happened to it in the past few days. Even awake he stays put a while longer because it feels nice. When he does move it's a slight shift like he's going to lift up onto his hands to look at Daryl properly but he ends up flopping back down instead with a noise that sounds vaguely like uuughhhhh. Man, he's sore as hell. Just going to. Lay here a while.
Knowing or not knowing what Daryl was like before all of this - he'd like to know, certainly, and to share the same information with him - it doesn't matter. It doesn't for most people really with the way things are now. It's not who you were, it's who you are. (He wouldn't think Daryl a liar for not telling him, in any case.) It's still strange to think about there coming a time when there may be no one left that knows what you were like before it all.
"Morning," he finally mumbles when he's cognizant enough to realize he should say something. He remembers what happened last night, but it's not something he's going to breach at the moment. Best to uh. Give it a minute, probably.
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When he does wake it's slowly - he hasn't felt this comfortable in ages even though his joints and muscles are screaming in protest now that his body's had time to process everything that's happened to it in the past few days. Even awake he stays put a while longer because it feels nice. When he does move it's a slight shift like he's going to lift up onto his hands to look at Daryl properly but he ends up flopping back down instead with a noise that sounds vaguely like uuughhhhh. Man, he's sore as hell. Just going to. Lay here a while.
Knowing or not knowing what Daryl was like before all of this - he'd like to know, certainly, and to share the same information with him - it doesn't matter. It doesn't for most people really with the way things are now. It's not who you were, it's who you are. (He wouldn't think Daryl a liar for not telling him, in any case.) It's still strange to think about there coming a time when there may be no one left that knows what you were like before it all.
"Morning," he finally mumbles when he's cognizant enough to realize he should say something. He remembers what happened last night, but it's not something he's going to breach at the moment. Best to uh. Give it a minute, probably.