Chapter Text
Rick's POV
Having to raise Carl on my own was difficult than it seems. Making sure he was always happy and to help him move on with his mother being dead. I loved Lori, she was everything I could ask for— and now she's...gone. It's unfair. This isn't the life I promised to my son, I never expected things to go this way either.
Being a celebrity was exhausting behind close doors. Sure, there was the fame and the money— but for once I just...wanted to be with Carl. We haven't been in good terms and I can see why. I couldn't even remember when was the last time I actually spent time with him. Especially a part of me is naturally workaholic.
The rays of sunlight hits through the blinds of my room, nothing but the soft chirping of the birds outside. Though, that peaceful moment was interrupted by the buzz of my phone alarm.
I stirred awake, forming out a annoyed grunt realising I have to be in the damn studio again doing the same shit— acting. As I hit the snooze button with my finger, I started sitting up on my bed... rubbing my eyes as I let out a yawn.
My bed looked like it went through a massacre, the sheets were all messed up and some of the pillows ended up on the floor. I reached out for my phone— only this time, I was planning to text Daryl real quick. He's the one that helps me keep my composure every time I was about lose it. He was...a "friend" of mine.
But— that word sounded so foreign to me.
» You already in the studio?
» .Almost. Just taking the subway
» Why so ominous? Did you woke up at the wrong side of the bed?
» .Fuck off
Me and Daryl had different schedules. That's why sometimes, he could be there before me. And...he gets to arrive home earlier.
I let out a snicker at the message I wrote, making sure he'll never get to hear the end of my teasing.
I turned off my phone, ending my conversation with Daryl for now. The last thing I wanted to happen is him telling his fans how much of an asshole I am every time he tends to have interviews.
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By the time I left my room— Carl was on the couch, watching something from the television. He saw me on the corner of his eyes and turns his head at my direction, his eyes sparkling as if he was on a toy store.
"Morning dad." He smiles, before he pointed the show he was watching with his index finger. "Can we watch this together?"
I can't help but feel bad on what I'm about to say next as I made my way to Carl, crouching to his level so he could see me better.
"I'm sorry— Carl. Daddy will be busy today, I'll call your babysitter to watch with you instead. Okay?" I uttered, trying to be reassuring, hoping he'll understand.
"I don't want that bitch around..!" Carl cusses out, upset by what I was planning to do.
"Language, young man. Where'd ya learn how to talk like that?" My eyes practically widen at his outburst, not expecting it to be a swear too.
"Um...your friend Shane?" Carl says in as a matter of fact tone, as if he's trying to defend himself.
"Should've seen that cominʼ." I whispered, shaking my head and exhaling deeply.
I knew what kind of man he can be, and I can't blame Carl for overhearing my conversations with Shane through the phone. He had a loud mouth, it might as well be similar to an alarm clock.
"Whatever, that doesn't matter now. Okay, here's a deal sunshine; if you've been a good boy to the babysitter, I'll buy you anything you want, yeah?" I knew I was spoiling him rotten. But I didn't have time for this so I had to sacrifice some rules I made. And...also my wallet.
"This better be real, dad." Carl huffed, rolling his eyes, being fully unimpressed. "Now move, I can't see the TV."
I did stand back up and scooted away, heading to the bathroom to finally take a shower.
Jesus, that kid had a big sassy ego.
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By the time I arrived in the studio— Daryl was holding his script, inspecting it throughly before making a face that just signals he was already done with this. He gave me a side eye and didn't say anything. Instead, he only flipped me off and I instantly got the message.
"Dude, it's like eight in the morning. Being all sappy won't help you live longer."
"Just grab yerʼ damn script. I'm not handling your shenanigans today, Grimes." He grunted, running his free hand through his hair.
Hearing Daryl call me by my last name was scary enough as it seems, and trust me, you don't wanna catch him in this state.
"Très bien, comme vous voulez..." I said in a low voice, grabbing my script that was resting on the table.
"Très— what?" Daryl stopped mid finger combing for a second.
"It means; fine, suit yourself." I paused too, accidentally letting out a fact I've been learning how to speak in another language.
"Since when did yaʼ decided to learn French?" Daryl created a sound that was a half scoff and half chuckle.
"Two years ago."
"Just don't do it often, got it? You're gonna give me a headache."
"Jerk." I mouthed out an insult.
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"Tough luck, huh?" I said, hinting at how many lines Daryl unfortunately got.
"Same thing with ya'." He gives me a firm nod that signals; I feel your pain. before he goes back to his lines and started reciting them.
When Daryl got his back turned away— I pulled my attention off my script and was about to suggest a way to help each other out. Yet, my words died before I could open my mouth to speak.
I ended up staring at him up and down, letting my gazes wander too long to where it shouldn't. I then snapped out of it when I realised I was checking him out. A warm, sensation runs over my face— my cheeks turning pink, my breath shaky.
Fuck, this guy is going to be the end of me.
And I love every second of it.