Spoilers: Mentions of characters from Season 2. Vague references to the show's plot.
Disclaimer: The Walking Dead sadly does not belong to me. If I did, Daryl would've kissed Glenn by now.
Summary: Pizza Shop/College AU. Glenn's so desperate for a job he ends up working the only place Shane advised him not to. Aside from the creeps coming in and constantly asking for tacos, it isn't half bad.

A/N: Hello all! While I was thinking of what to write for Packages I stumbled upon this little idea where Daryl had a laptop. But the idea changed drastically and it morphed into something completely different. I bring you this fic that was supposed to be a few paragraphs long but has turned into whatever this is now.

I'd Like A Large With You On Top

Glenn's wiping down the tables of HERSHEL'S, the rundown pizza joint he just got a job in, a small mom and pop shop that was only twenty minutes walking distance from their apartment. His manager, Dave, is sitting in the back and refused to be woken up unless it was either a) closing time or b) the impending apocalypse wherein the dead walk again. Glenn rolls his eyes, as if. The sounds coming from behind the door inform Glenn to avoid eating any of the pizzas tonight. For some reason Shane told Glenn to avoid this place, but Glenn was desperate to make this month's rent and this was the only place hiring. Aside from the creeps coming in and constantly asking for tacos, it isn't half bad.

Glenn sighs underneath the dim bulbs and stares at the cheesy unauthentic Italian decorations, eyeing the red tiles, white drapes, and green plastic plants with disdain. Hershel was so not an Italian name. Hershel Greene? Seriously? He wishes the spinning ceiling fan was better at keeping the place cool. Outside are a few women in high heels loitering in the parking lot. Glenn shakes his head, wondering why they'd make their boyfriends pick them up in such a sketchy part of town. It's another empty night with no requests for deliveries. Glenn's glad because his bike had been stolen. He so wouldn't make it in half an hour.

He's stuffing the metal tins with napkins when he hears the bell jingling above the front door. Glenn doesn't bother to turn around when he greets a cheesy welcome to their only customer of the night. No one buys pizza on Sundays. He rounds the counter and fiddles with the stacks of napkins underneath it before he hears the voice with a rough Southern drawl.

"Lookin' for somethin' good to sink my teeth in."

Glenn slowly looks up to find the creepiest smirk he'd ever laid his eyes on. Glenn freezes at the same time the man does. The somewhat handsome man's eyes rake over Glenn and Glenn can't help but stare back. Glenn can feel the sweat multiply in his palms and he wiggles his fingers along his jeans to wipe them dry. It doesn't work, so he tries rubbing them down his apron.

"Hi!" Glenn juts an arm out. "I'm Glenn!" Glenn opens his mouth and takes a deep breath in and retracts his arm slowly. "What can I get you today?"

Glenn takes a good look, noticing the sleeveless shirt and those biceps that bulge forever. Glenn shakes his head and notices the man's staring back. The man raises a brow and Glenn can't help feel as if he is being scrutinized. He wriggles in his dirty hand-me-down uniform and pulls on the collar. Glenn looks back at the man, trying to maintain eye contact, trying not to look small. But he caves and ends up staring at the greasy countertop, counting the drops of oil scattered across the tiles.

"Got any…" The man licks his lips, sounding hesitant. "Sausage?"

Glenn starts off strong but stutters his response when the man suddenly leans against the counter. "W-we've got Italian and P-Polish."

He gets an uncertain smile and reiterates they only have the two types of sausage. The man decides to get both, since the type he was hoping for wasn't on the menu. Glenn chuckles nervously, trying to ignore the now close proximity of the man, and punches the order in, yelling the order loudly to Dave. The man drops a bill and a few coins into Glenn's palm and the touch lingers a bit too long. Glenn smiles miserably, wondering what disease is now making a home on his hand.

He turns around and stares at the fridge, asking the man what he wants to drink. But the man doesn't say anything. So Glenn pushes the door and heads to the back and finds Dave flinging some dough into the air.

Much to Dave's annoyance, Glenn stays in the back, waiting until the order is complete. He stuffs the box with the pizza and sighs when he takes it out, balancing it high on top of his hand. The man's sitting in the corner, staring at the television screen with fuzzy images. Glenn clears his throat, which gets the man's attention.

He snaps his head toward Glenn and stares stoically, confused. Glenn slides the box onto the table and wishes the man a good night before he goes back to the counter and fiddles with the straws, back facing the stranger. It takes a few minutes before he hears the bell above the front door jingle. Glenn sighs in relief when he finds the storefront empty.

It's after closing when Dave offers Glenn a ride to Andrea's. Glenn happily accepts and avoids touching Dave's hands and places the man could've touched. Glenn opens the car door by wrapping a hand in his shirt. He keeps his hands in his lap. He's dropped off at the end of the road because Dave was worried some frat boy would barf all over his car, so Glenn ends up walking in the dark, alone.

Glenn arrives and drinks two beers before he finds Shane trying to chat up some girl he's never seen before. Shane's face lights up and he wraps his arm around Glenn and introduces him to the girl's friend.

"This is Ed." He motions Glenn towards the large and rotund guy that eyes Glenn like he's meat on a stick.

Glenn shudders at the thought and smiles hesitantly. He chugs a bottle of beer down and leads Ed to an empty couch in the middle of the crowded living room, hoping that Shane doesn't score tonight.


Glenn groans into his semi-fluffy pillow. He rubs his face against the fabric, trying to wipe the drool off his face. The incessant buzzing makes his headache even worse, each loud bang drilling annoyance into his ears. Glenn reaches out, flailing one of his arms in the direction the sound's coming from without batting an eye open, smacking objects here and there. After a few tries, he manages to knock over judging from the large clunk what he thinks is the bedside lamp, feel up an old issue of Sports Illustrated he found last week under Shane's laundry basket, and presses the good old SNOOZE button.

He manages to rest a pitiful five minutes before his alarm clock blinks a little too brightly, vibrating for Glenn's attention. It's 6:50 AM on what will probably another horrible Monday morning. Glenn kicks off his usual routine by rolling in his sheets in an attempt to untangle himself. This is closely followed by staggering to the messy washroom he and Shane share. Glenn glares at the leftover toothpaste sitting in the sink and reminds himself to yell at Shane for being a messy douche. He jumps into the warm shower, washes himself for approximately two minutes before standing there for another five then beating off for three.

When he exits the bathroom, it's exactly 7 o'clock. Just on time. He rolls up his towel by twirling it in the air. He whips Shane on the ass. The larger man grumbles something about no whips until after the third date, causing Glenn to roll his eyes.

"Dude," Glenn groans, rubbing his forehead, and mentally reminds himself never to drink again. It's about an hour walk to campus. "Monday. Class."


Glenn returns after a long day of classes—most of which he skipped scoping the school parking lots for decent cars and to deliver the odd pizza here and there. He's in some small town outside of Atlanta, trying to make a living for himself. He is enrolled in a community college but apparently all essays these days needed to be typed on a computer. Sure he could spend hours at the library, but going to a small school meant that the libraries closed shortly after 5 and staying all day at the library means no rent money.

And since he all of the money he, well, earned—let's put it that way—went into the apartment, saving up for a laptop was a pipedream. He couldn't even afford a stone-age cellphone. Hell, he and Shane couldn't even afford living in the dorms, so they had to rent some shitty apartment—one living room that functioned as a bedroom, two springy cots, and one bathroom with a toilet that failed to flush unless you held it for a good seven seconds—on the other side of the tracks, far from civilization and cute gamer chicks.

"Hey, Pizzaboy!" Shane calls out from the bathroom. "Andrea's having a get-together tonight!"

Glenn rolls his eyes. He has a few hours of scheduled napping before he plans to go scope the grocery parking lot for coupons and cars alike. "Dude, it's a Monday."

"No shit, Sherlock." Shane stomps out with a towel that hung dangerously low on his hips. He stretches an arm out and slightly smacks Glenn on the cheek.

Glenn pauses, realizing something. "Didn't she have one yesterday?"

"This one's a kegger and you're my wingman tonight."

Glenn groans. "I'm always your wingman."

And that's how Glenn ends up at another house party—his third of the week. He's sitting on the couch, squished in between two couples obscenely making out beside him. Glenn swears the girl on his right is going to fall in his lap any second now and make out with him. He gags at the thought because he knows the guy she's sitting on looks like the type of guy who easily caught things under the belt.

Glenn knows he was supposed to be stuck to Shane's side the whole time, but somehow the group of five people multiplied into twenty, then fifty, and they'd been separated ever since. Glenn wouldn't be surprised to know if half the campus was inside the sorority house right now. So instead of embarking on a fruitless search, he plops down onto a couch and stares at everyone passing by while nursing a single bottle of beer.

Carol and T-Dog are getting jiggy in one of the back corners. Glenn rolls his eyes at the way his hands slowly makes its way down her back to cup her ass. Amy waves goofily from down the hall, wiggling her arm in the air while clutching on some guy he didn't really know. Jim something or other? Glenn raises a hand and nods in their general direction. Glenn's not surprised to see her date quickly latch his mouth on her neck. But judging from his face, the tall, mysterious, but somehow familiar looking guy standing awkwardly behind them is.

The heat rises to Glenn's cheeks and he finds himself looking away as quickly as he could, rubbing the back of his neck in awkward fashions. Sure he and Amy were good friends, but seeing her drunkenly go down on someone wasn't on his bucket list. His eyes land on Andrea, who's squatting underneath a funnelled hose, gulping mouthful after mouthful of beer. Behind her is a cheering crowd of tough guys he doesn't recognize. And behind them is Shane, gesturing a half-empty bottle of lager with the utmost seriousness to someone Glenn couldn't really see. Damn, Shane had it bad.

Glenn sighs and escapes the threat of catching mono. He weaves through the crowded and sweaty room, trying to make as little contact as possible, bending his body in ways he didn't even know he could to avoid the grinding couples. The kitchen is not as crowded but it's twice as sweaty. Glenn greets Andrea with a hello and a smile but she doesn't seem to hear him under the chant of Chug! Chug! Chug!

He's about to reach Shane when he feels something tingling along the back of his neck. It's this sense Glenn realized he had since he was a child, one that warned him of something dangerous. For a week, he thought he was Spiderman, but after all those bruises from trying to stick to the wall, he realized he was more suited to be Batman—aside from the fact he was dirt poor. Glenn is about to turn around when Andrea suddenly calls his name. He moves in her direction and finds a tube shoved into his mouth followed by a rush of cold fluid.

Glenn has no choice but to swallow. Swallow hard and swallow fast. And although he tries his hardest, some of the booze slips from the cracks of his mouth. He's struggling, having difficulty breathing, and the rush only lasts a few seconds before he starts spitting the rest of the beer in his mouth out, causing a resounding chorus of boos.

Sure, there were more things that happened since then, but the alcohol seemed to work faster than usual. He so should've had that burrito this afternoon. Drinking on an empty stomach was never a good thing. The last thing Glenn remembers is seeing Shane knocking bottles with Rick.


Glenn groans into the spit-soaked pillow. The vibrating cellphone makes his headache even worse. Glenn reaches out, flailing one of his arms in the direction the sound's coming from without batting an eye open, smacking objects here and there. After a few tries, he manages to knock over a hopefully empty beer bottle, finger his favourite red cap, thwack someone's arm, and presses the good old END CALL button.

He manages to rest a pitiful five minutes before he feels something shift beside him, vibrating for Glenn's attention. According to the phone, it's past noon and Glenn realizes he probably has another horrible hangover. He's five hours behind schedule. Glenn kicks off his usual routine by rolling in his sheets in an attempt to untangle himself.

But something's wrong with this picture. He doesn't have a cell. Glenn moans quietly, opening his eyes to find himself in an unfamiliar room. With unfamiliar arms wrapped around his waist. With an unfamiliar weight pinning him down.

Quickly scanning his around him Glenn tries to make sense of what happened last night. But the only thing he can come up with is the splitting headache that's threatening to badger him to extinction. Glenn almost screams when he realizes he's not wearing any his pajamas. Although he's slightly consoled by the fact that he still has his briefs on.

And whose legs are those!?

Glenn stares downwards at the pale hairy legs that are sprawled on top and between his before his eyes shoot up to the pillow-covered face of the guy he slept with last night. The panic permeates from his thoughts through to his face and Glenn mentally slaps himself, hoping that 'the guy he slept with last night' meant just that.

Glenn is a virgin. Or possibly was. All Glenn knows is that he wanted his first time to be something special, memorable and orgasmic with a dash of romance. (But don't tell anyone that or people will start calling him a sap.) This right here was so far from that.

And is that a penis he feels against his?

Glenn shivers with minimal disgust—while thinking of the diseases this guy could be crawling with—in an attempt to not to wake whoever was restraining him. Andrea's keggers may be infamous for the insane amount of booze ingested over the span over three hours, but it was also known for spreading around things that shouldn't be spread.

A quick glance to the wall and Glenn spies in between to guns, a Confederate flag hanging proudly in the middle of the wall for all to see. Glenn gulps nervously, trying to untangle his limbs from whoever was threatening to suffocate him with a bulky body. He has to get out of there. Immediately!

As quietly as he can, Glenn lifts the leg pinning him down, almost dropping it twice because it's surprisingly heavy, and manages to squeeze out from under the equally surprising muscled thigh. He's about to pull the arm away when the grip around his waist tightens. Glenn tenses when he feels the stubbled chin nuzzle against his forehead.

It takes a few minutes until Glenn is able to scrounge up what little courage he has left and tries to escape once more. He does after tediously lifting finger after finger off his belly before lifting the arm completely. His shirt had somehow vanished and his pants were apparently ripped in three pieces. He so does not want to know.

Glenn's about to make a clean getaway until he stumbles on something squishy and small and wet—Glenn hopes to whoever's out there listening that it isn't what he thinks it is—causing him to reach out and grab the flag for stability. But the flag falls and so do the guns, which clang noisily when they hit the ground.

Glenn shudders when he hears his partner (not even!) turn and grumble at the noise. An overwhelming sense of relief fills him when the guy on the bed doesn't stir. Glenn groans internally when he realizes he has to run back to his apartment in his tighty whities. When he reaches the bedroom door the alarm goes off, blaring loudly, startling the man in the bed.

And Glenn bolts out of there with a Confederate flag wrapped around his waist.


"You what?" Amy scoffs, giving Glenn a look of disbelief. She's sitting on the edge of her bed, which Glenn is currently sprawled across.

"I don't know what happened. All I remember is this big headache." Glenn tells her about waking up in the stranger's house and the emblem that he covered himself with on his way out. The very same one that is now hidden under his bed.

"I knew you were DTF but I didn't know you were that available!" Amy giggles.

Glenn playfully shoves her. "We didn't do anything. I mean, I wouldn't be able to walk after, right?"

Amy rolls her eyes and begins fiddling with her phone. "Where's the place? Maybe I know him."

Glenn rubs a hand in his face and shakes his head. "Ugh. If I could remember I'll tell you. Somewhere in the woods?"

"There, there." Amy pats him on the shoulder before petting a tuff of his hair that stuck out in an odd manner. "You probably don't remember because the sex was horrible."

Glenn is offended. "Are you saying I'm bad in bed?"

"How bad can you be? I mean you're just lying there taking a dick up your ass!"

She laughs and Glenn thwacks her with the nearest object he can grab—a vibrator.

Glenn gags when he realizes what he just touched. He drops it in disgust and rubs his hand against Amy's shoulder. But she dodges it and grabs his hand. Amy laughs when she forces Glenn to rub his face instead.


It's nearly the end of the week and Glenn has almost pushed the thoughts of his brief encounter with Mr First. Glenn wanted to call him Mr Repressed Redneck but Amy claimed that she'd already spread the word to her sister—which only meant that the whole sorority knew by now and possibly half the campus would know in about, oh, half an hour.

'Besides, Mr First sounds much more romantic.'

When Shane found out, he only shook his head. Rick was more amiable about it, patting Glenn's shoulder before walking away. Lori warned Glenn to watch himself and then mumbled something about one night stands. T-Dog was worried that Glenn would end up in a hole somewhere. Carol only smiled softly. What does that even mean?

Glenn stares outside of the window while Andrea drives around the outskirts of town. They've been searching every day, looking for Glenn's knight in redneck plaid but Glenn shakes his head at every house.

"Why are you so determined to find him?" Glenn sighs, watching house after forest after house go by.

"I'm not letting some guy use you and dump you like that." Andrea nods his way. "You're too good for that, Glenn."

Glenn smiles at her and presses his forehead against the glass. Each house is growing further and further from the one before and Glenn gets this weird feeling when tall trees begin to surround them. A familiar tingling sensation warns Glenn of something but all Glenn feels is the adrenaline coursing through his arteries. He's breathing loudly so he turns up the music and hopes Andrea doesn't realize anything's wrong. Glenn watches each house go by, giving them one quick glance before looking away.

And then Glenn sees it.

Glenn's eyes open wide and he tries not to stare at the house as they drive by, but his face turns, following the shack. Andrea notices it, brakes hard, and shifts the car into reverse. They stop in front of a rundown house in the middle of the woods and Glenn's trying to pull his jaw off the ground.

"That the one?" Andrea asks but she sounds doubtful. Andrea shakes her head, putting things together. "You can't be serious."

"That's the one." Glenn says, looking at the tiny two level rundown shack. There's wood everywhere and there's a fire coming out of the chimney in the back. He points towards the clothing line in the front yard, at the plaid red shirt flying in the wind. "That's my shirt!"

Andrea looks at him in disbelief, shaking her head. But recognition flashes across her face when she takes a closer look. "No way."

"No way what?"

"Glenn," Andrea says solemnly, taking his hands in hers. She stares into his eyes and breaks the bad news. "You lost your virginity to Merle Dixon."


"Who's Merle Dixon?" Glenn asks for the thousandth time, following Andrea into the sorority building. She ignores his words, waving to her sisters before heading up the stairs. Glenn sighs dejectedly when she only smiles and tells him to stay the fuck away from Merle. She didn't even let him get his shirt back.

He ends up kicking rocks on the way back to his apartment. A big one catches his attention and Glenn kicks hard. It flies forward, bouncing along the pavement, only to veer onto the road. Glenn would have continued his game if a pick-up truck didn't honk on its way by, capturing the pebble in its treads.

Shane's snoring obnoxiously when Glenn enters the apartment. Glenn spies the drool dripping down his roommates face and has the urge to clog the spout with rolled up tissues. He doesn't do it though, knowing Shane would take revenge in a similar fashion except it would be more embarrassing on Glenn's part. Glenn thinks of waking the sleeping beast but using his better judgement, he decides not to, so instead of dwelling on anything, Glenn heads to the washroom and stands under the water for a good thirteen minutes, way past his usual allotted time.

When he gets out, his dick is still lonely and Glenn doesn't mind. He pulls on the cleanest pair of bottoms he can find, which is blue basketball shorts with a ketchup stain that is a little too close to his ass. But it doesn't matter. Glenn crashes onto his bed and stares up at the ceiling, wondering if this Merle was boyfriend material. He gets giddy at the thought of true love. Glenn wouldn't have sex unless it was right, right?

He's about to fall asleep when he spies Shane's laptop open for the taking. Something twinkles in his eyes when he realizes that Shane is still logged in. Glenn hikes himself up his bed and reaches for the laptop, pumping a fist silently when he manages to fish it over.

Opening a browser, Glenn decides to search for his first. Searching the name in myface and tweeblr was not helpful at all. He finds a Merle Dixon—from Australia. And another that was too large around the waist. The closest thing that appears on screen is some woman named Marlie. Glenn is sure he felt a penis when he woke up underneath Merle so he almost closes the tab. But what if she was a tranny? She may have been, Glenn supposes, but their skin colours so do not match. Glenn concludes there's nothing on any social networking site.

Glenn's about to give up when he decides to Google the name instead. The first thing he sees is an article about how he punched a friendly overseas. After scanning the electronic print, he shakes his head. Surely the guy wasn't the one in the same. So Glenn clicks the link and discovers that Merle lives in the middle of the woods in Georgia, nearby some small town college—Oh fuck.

He lost his virginity to some racist, sexist, bonehead hick.


Sunday comes and Glenn skipped all his classes as usual. His syllabi have everything he needs anyway, right? So what's the point going to class when the professor spouts out the exact thing on the textbooks—which Glenn made photocopies of and saved hundreds—word for word?

He has to run to work because Shane asked him to swipe a box of condoms from the pharmacy down the street and bring it back. The getaway could have been clean, except there was this girl there watching his every move, like she wanted to shove her hands down his pants and have her way with him. Meg or something or other. He arrives sixteen minutes late to work and is frustrated.

It's another lonely night at work and Glenn's glad that Jimmy's the one out doing deliveries tonight. Only a few people came in, weird trucker guys, each one asking for tacos. Glenn has an exam coming up, and from what Andrea got out from Dale, Glenn knows it's going to be a doozy. He sighs as he flips the page, ready to fall asleep any second. He's following a sentence describing critical social theory; trailing the words with a finger that moves slower each time he yawns. Glenn's eyes are about to close when the front door bell beckons his attention.

"Welcome to Hershel's," Glenn yawns, stretching an arm out. "What can I get you?"

He turns and finds a sleeveless man standing on the other side of the counter. Glenn's not sure, but he swears he sees a small smirk forming at the corner of the man's lips. Glenn gulps, waiting for the man's response.

"Medium. Pepperoni." The man pauses. Glenn's about to ring the order when the man clears his throat, interrupting with, "And some soy sauce to go."

Glenn finds himself looking at the man's lips and the tongue that's slightly poking out between them. An unfamiliar feeling spreads through Glenn's body, causing small hairs to stand in attention. Glenn whips his head toward the ingredient list, scanning each bullet, and comes to the conclusion that they didn't offer that here.

"Sorry. We got chipotle if you'd like?"

The man frowns and appears to be confused. The man shakes his head and just asks for the pizza with a familiar twang, leaning into Glenn's personal bubble.

Glenn wants to hide in the back but Dave pushes him out by bumping their hips repeatedly, saying if he doesn't man the front he's going to kick his ass all the way to Nebraska. So Glenn hops out of the back and sees the man sitting in the corner, staring up at the television.

He's not as ugly as Glenn originally thought. He's kind of handsome, in his own quirky way. Even though Glenn's not too familiar with what classifications are required for men to be deemed hot, he knows when a guy is attractive. And he knows when a guy is straight. So when Glenn decides this man definitely is, he sighs drearily. There's a little scruff on his face and hopefully what isn't a permanent scowl. He's just a bit taller than Glenn but not too tall. Which is a plus, he supposes.

He wonders what their babies would look like.

Glenn realizes he's staring when Dave calls him to get the order from the oven. He stumbles and jerks his elbow, causing his head to dislodge from the perch that was Glenn's hand and fall onto the counter. He groans and rubs his chin. Dave seems to find this funny so Glenn gives him the finger—which fails to silence the laughter—and goes to the back to retrieve his pizza.

The temptation to spit on the cheese is overwhelming but Glenn refrains from doing so, deciding that having a job outweighs retaliation. So Glenn takes a deep breath and kicks the swinging door open and holds the box up high. He almost drops the box when he realizes that the man is on the other side of the counter—his side, the side that Glenn is currently standing on.

Glenn gulps and immediately holds the box in front of him in an attempt to keep some distance between him and the sketchy stranger who takes two steps forward. The man's gaze drops to the box that bumps into his belly. Glenn almost sighs in relief when his plan works.

"Here's your pizza have a good night!" Glenn sputters, shoving the box at the man's face.

Glenn spins on his feet and storms into the back, not giving a damn how bad his ass will hurt after Dave kicks his ass. Nebraska can't be that far, can it?


Glenn says goodbye to the girls standing outside the store when his shift ends. A few giggle, pointing at the flour on Glenn's cheek. The say if he wants some makeup lessons, he should just ask one of them. He rubs it off, blushing as he thanks them for the advice. They tell him to get home safely. When he reaches the sidewalk, there's a guy there, sitting on curb. Glenn waves to him too, only to receive a scowl. The guy mutters about Glenn wasting a customer.

Dave had to leave because of some family emergency and Jimmy never came back to work, so Glenn stuffs his hands in his pockets and lightly jogs home. He checks his back every five feet and every time he hears a strange sound.

He is exhausted by the time he enters the apartment building. A scary man chased him so Glenn had to run and hide behind some tall bushes for a good half an hour while a tiny kitten (he hopes it was a kitten) scratched his leg. Glenn contentedly takes the elevator to his floor. When the lights ding and the doors open, he finds Rick standing in front of him.

"Glenn!" Rick jogs up happily and raises an arm to get his attention. "I'm having a thing this weekend. Sunday good for you?"

"I can't," Glenn shakes his head and starts walking to his apartment. "I have work."

"Come on, Glenn." Rick tries, maneuvering himself to block Glenn's path. "You have to come. You'll feel better about your…situation."

"I always work Sundays." Glenn looks down. "I need the money."

Rick follows Glenn's gaze and shoots back up with a steely stare that commands his attention. "No problem. We'll come get you after." Glenn's about to open his mouth but Rick cuts him off. "When are you done? We'll pick you up."

Glenn shrugs, defeated. "I'm done at eleven."

"Just give me the address and we'll be there."

"I work at Hershel's it's—"

"You work at Hershel's?"

"Yeah, why?"

Rick's eyes gloss over and he shakes his head at something. Glenn tilts his head, confused. But Rick doesn't say anything more. Instead, he puts both hands on Glenn's shoulders and tells him to stay safe and protect himself, that money isn't everything. Or something along those lines. Glenn isn't really paying attention. But when Rick pats him on the back, Glenn becomes aware of his surroundings.

He reaches his apartment only to find a sock hanging on the door.

Glenn sleeps outside.

A few short hours later, Glenn finds himself being kicked awake by an angry Shane.

"The hell are you doing out here?" Shane grumbles, nudging Glenn with the tip of his boot. "Thought you got kidnapped or somethin'."

Glenn points at the doorknob without looking. "Sock. And that's not funny."

Shane turns to the door, blocking Glenn's view. "What sock?"

"The sock!" Glenn hisses. "I swear there was on there! I just saw it!"

"You're seein' things. Get up." Shane grabs an arm and yanks Glenn up and down the hall with relative ease. "No skippin' for you today. Got a pop quiz."

The quiz, although filled with many short answer and essay-type questions, is feasible enough for Glenn. He sits behind that Beth girl who studies for a week straight and knows everything in the textbook yet always has a five-minute panic before entering the classroom. Today's meltdown consisted of hair pulling and wall slapping.

Glenn peeks over her shoulder, filling in bubbles in a similar manner, wondering how it's possible to get so many D's in a row. After scanning the questions and options once more, he shrugs and puts six of them in a row. Shane shakes his head from across the room and smirks when he sees Glenn roll his eyes.

After the quiz is over, Shane grips Glenn's wrist tight and drags him down the hall. Shane waves at Lori and speaks to her for a few minutes. She laughs, playing with her hair as she walks away. Eyes follow as the two guys down the semi-crowded hallways, but Shane tells Glenn to ignore them.

"Why are they staring?" Glenn asks and Shane freezes for a second.

"Probably because they found out about your little escapade." Shane mutters under his breath. "C'mon. You're spillin' the beans."

Shane brings Glenn outside to the football field, pushing him towards the bleachers. They stand underneath the wood covered chipped white paint. Glenn stares at the grass, the creaking benches above him, the random couple making out on a hill across the field, that plop of bird shit that threatens to fall into his shoes any second, anything to avoid Shane's eye.

"Look," Shane rubs his forehead exasperatedly. "I don't give a crap whether you're bonin' girls or boys or anything in between." Glenn gives a horrified look and Shane just goes on, staring at a thin wispy cloud while he speaks. "Just don't screw yourself over. Like me."


Shane clasps his hands on Glenn's shoulders. "Don't get hurt."

"Oh, okay."

Shane begins to move out from under the bleachers when he spins and jabs Glenn in the chest with a finger. "And, if you know what's best for you, you stay the fuck away from Merle Dixon."


It's Wednesday and after much coaxing, Glenn managed to pick up a shift from Randall. Amy rolled her eyes and informed Glenn that he owed her big time. He only smiled sheepishly, explaining that he needed the extra funds because he was really getting sick of eating cup ramen all year round.

Sure, he could take home leftovers from HERSHEL'S but Glenn isn't sure if he'd be better off eating the stuff made from Dave or Tony. The larger man was working today. Although he isn't as rude as Dave can be, Tony seems to like imitating the other man. Glenn's manning the front again, glad that Hershel was kind enough to make Morgan do the deliveries today. Glenn loves making easy money. Minimum wage for sitting around? Not bad at all.

Glenn is helping Tony unload the flour from the truck in the back when he hears the door ring. He grunts as he lifts the heavy bag onto the counter before yelling to Tony that he's going to help the customer out. Tony grunts from outside the back door. Flour flies when Glenn thoroughly pats down his apron. A puff of powder invades his nostrils and he ends up coughing a fit. He opens his eyes to find a giggling blonde.





"Glenn!" they say in unison.

"What?" Glenn asks, confused. He takes a look at his friend and co-worker and presses his lips thin. "Dude, you shouldn't be here. Didn't you tell them you were sick?" He shoots a look at Amy. "Andrea will kill you when she finds out you were here."

Amy laughs. "Puh-lease! I'm a big girl, Glenn. I can handle myself."

"That's why I have these." Randall motions to a large pair of thick-rimmed sunglasses before wiggling his brows.

"I meant that it's past eleven on a school night! And that cover is totally stupid. Who wears sunglasses at night?" Glenn looks to both of them but they remain silent with knowing smiles. He releases an annoyed sigh. "Just don't talk too loud. Tony's in the back. You know how he likes to squeal. So, what do you want?"

Amy scours the menu and Randall blurts out they'll have two slices of cheese with garlic sticks. Amy chimes in, stating she'd like two diet cokes. Randall makes a disgusted face when he thinks she isn't looking. She whacks him upside his head with a straw.

After Tony warms up the pizza, Glenn brought them to the couple. They are sitting in a booth against the wall, far from the front door, but equally as distant from the counter. He receives a warm look from Amy and a gesture with sunglasses from Randall.

Glenn sighs when he walks back to the counter. But his usual routine of lounging around comes to a halt when three rowdy guys enter the joint. One of them asks Glenn for sausage, the other two ask for tacos. Glenn shakes his head and says they only sell pizza. They leave grumbling. Following suit are a couple of the girls who usually hang around outside—who actually want slices. Glenn rings up their orders, handing them their exact change with not only swiftness but also precision. Like most of HERSHEL'S customers, they scarf down their slices and leave crumbs, crusts, and used napkins—all of which Glenn so does not want to touch—on their tables.

He grudgingly grabs a rag and starts to wipe the tables clear of debris. He's bent over a table when he hears the bell jingle.

"Welcome to Hershel's." Glenn doesn't bother to turn around. The customers here never mind. If you want classy service, go to another place across the tracks. "How can I help you?" There is nothing but silence. He sighs and turns, to find a surprised, man standing at the door, staring at him, with his jaw slack, mouth open. "Err?"

"Um." The man licks his chapped lips. "Nice buns."

Glenn stares at the man, trying to put a finger where he's seen him before. After a moment of contemplation, Glenn deduces that the man before him is probably a regular customer. Glenn eyes him up and down and notices the biceps and sleeveless shirt. He nods in affirmation when he realizes he is the guy who came in on Sunday asking for soy sauce. Glenn's gaze meets Amy's, so he rolls his eyes. She hides her giggles behind her hand.

"This is a pizzeria not a bakery." Glenn strolls behind the drink fridge and pulls out the broom and starts sweeping the junk he pushed off the tabletops.

Glenn hears the heavy voice say, "A hot slice would be good."

"We currently have cheese, pepperoni, and vegetarian." Glenn gestures to the spinning pizzas in the plastic dome. Glenn looks up to find the man standing casually beside the counter, tapping it with his fingers. Glenn feels a slight sense of relief. "Buck twenty-five per."

Glenn bends down to push the greasy napkins into the dustpan but as soon as he does, he hears a fit of coughs from behind him. He turns to find Randall rubbing Amy's back with a concerned look on his face. Amy's hands are at her chest and she gives him a weak smile as she pushes her drink away. Her eyes are moving back and forth and it takes him a few seconds to catch on. Glenn's face stays still but he moves his eyes to find the man glaring at Amy.

"Well?" Glenn turns his body fully. "What can I get you?"

The man's eyes shoot immediately to the floor. "Two cheeses."

Glenn shouts the order, presses the button, and sticks his hands out. The man scowls at him and roughly presses the cash into his palm. Glenn's about to call him out on it, but the man swiftly makes his way to a table and stares at the television.

Unlike Dave, Tony doesn't mind when Glenn stays in the back. Tony's in the middle of some old movie Glenn's never heard of, so the only thing Tony demands is silence. When the slices are warmed through, Glenn places them onto a triangular plate and carries it out the door.

Glenn notices that Randall is helping Amy put on a thick sweater. Amy and Randall are getting ready to leave. He sighs, realizing the night would be another boring one. Glenn holds the pizza out and the man yanks them from his hands, grumbles something at him, and then zooms out of the store. Glenn blinks blankly. Amy only laughs as she and Randall leave, explaining that she's heading home. Randall is halfway out the door when he jokes about taking one of the girls outside home with him and Amy frowns. Glenn waves goodbye.

He surprised that she's going home so early. And he's even more surprised to see the mess on their table.

Glenn pulls the rag out from under the counter and notices that the crusts and cans are neatly placed on the paper plates. He smiles at the gesture and picks up the trash and tosses it out. When he goes to wipe down their table, Glenn sees that Amy left him, on a tiny piece of paper, a tip:

Rule Number Six! Bend and snap!


"What the hell is this?" Glenn holds the thin slip up in front of Amy's face. He wiggles it back and forth, bringing it close enough that her eyebrows could get a papercut. He's hoping for a quick answer because interrogating Amy is putting him behind schedule. There's a decent car in the lot and Glenn's looking for quick money.

"It's your tip, silly."

"It doesn't even make sense!" Glenn mumbles. "Bend and snap?"

"He was totally checking you out," Amy says calculatingly, sliding her textbooks back onto her shelf.

"Who?" Glenn jumps onto her bed, revelling in how soft it is compared to his. He tries to resist the urge to snuggle into her soft fluffy pillow. Tries.

"The guy from last night." Amy shoots him a dumbfounded look. "You seriously need to step up your game."

Glenn hands fly straight up then wave around frantically when he realizes he is offended by her accusation. "I was just cleaning!"

"Next time, try pretending you're a sexy housewife. I'm sure that'll get him going."

Glenn hops off the bed. "But I'm a dude!"

"Yeah, so?"

"And he's totally straight!" he says, making his way toward the door.

Amy smiles knowingly. "I'm sure you can work something out. Glenn." He freezes. "Drop the pillow."


Glenn drools onto his arm, which served as a temporary pillow. He's breathing quietly in regular intervals, deep and long. The girls outside are being picked by their friends every few minutes and return just as quickly as they left. Even the guy sitting on the curb vanishes for a bit before coming back to sit on his stoop. The jingling bell is easy to ignore because it only rings a few times before it returns to its still position. He's willing his eyes to stay closed but the echoing walk bring him closer to consciousness with each step. Stomp, stomp, stomp. Glenn groans as he lifts his head.

He manages to keep his eyes closed for a few more seconds before a shadow appears above him, darkening the view under his eyelids. It's past midnight on another Saturday night—or rather Sunday morning—and Glenn is glad that customers have been grabbing slices and leaving close to the correct amount of cash beside him. Some of them have been asking him for sausage but he just waved them off saying they were out for the night. Sure, he's a few quarters in the red but Glenn thinks he saw a few under the refrigerator. HERSHEL'S is about to close and Glenn couldn't be any happier.

He hears someone mumble 'chinaman' and he mutters that he's Korean and proceeds to name differences between the two nationalities before trailing off with a small snore. Glenn feels something tug on his hair so he tilts his head to get a look at the shadow so he can grumble at whoever dared to disturb his sleep.

"You got drool on your face."

"W-what?" Glenn says, dumbfounded. He opens his eyes. It's the guy who Amy claimed was checking him out on Wednesday. Pshh, yeah right. Glenn quickly rubs his chin, hoping to wipe off any drool that might have dried on his face. He smiles bashfully when he realizes the man is watching him. "What kind of slice do you want?"

"Kimchi. Is it expensive?"

Glenn nods. But then he catches on to what the man said. "Dude, this is a pizza joint. If you want Korean, you're barking up the wrong tree. We only have Teriyaki barbecue dipping sauce here." Glenn licks his lips. "If you want."

The man's lips press thin. It appears as if he's frowning but Glenn's not really sure. He stares into the man's eyes.

"That's too bad. I've been cravin' it for weeks." The man pauses and looks around the store quickly before continuing, "Do you do home deliveries?"

"Yeah," Glenn affirms, still staring into those mysterious eyes.

"Good. Uh. Give me your number."

Glenn scans the counter, looking for something to write on when the man whips out a half-used napkin. Glenn takes it sheepishly and pats himself down for a pen. He finds one in his apron pocket and wags it in front of the man he now dubbed in his head as Mr Mysterious. Halfway through the number Glenn's eyes open wide when he realizes he's writing his own. The home phone number that he shares with Shane. So he does the only thing he can—he shoves the napkin into his mouth and chews it slowly.

"What?" Glenn smiles. It's hesitant and he tries his best to keep it from wavering.

The man stares as if he's unsure what to make of this action, so Glenn sighs. The man is irked at the sight and Glenn can tell he's got a piece stuck between his teeth. The man shakes his head, saying he'll just find it on the internet, and leaves.

Glenn feels disappointed for some reason.


When Glenn wakes up, he decides that he needs to flip his pillow over. It's getting dirty and even though he wants to wash it, he ends up spending the rest of this week's pay on food. He reaches over, fumbling, knocking things over, and finds the plug and kills the alarm clock. He doesn't give a crap what time it is. Shane's over on the other side of the room, sawing logs like usual, with one arm plastered over eyes, the other across his stomach, where half of his hand is under his boxers. There's a smug look on his face. Glenn snorts.

Glenn untangles himself from his sheets and staggers to the washroom. Glenn gags when he finds Shane's 'lucky' boxer briefs sprawled across the sink. He reaches over and pinches the side of the fabric—the one that is least likely to touch dick or ass—with his nails and drops it on the floor. Glenn's routine is delayed because of two minutes of hand washing.

He brushes his teeth and then jumps into the warm shower. He scrubs himself down for two minutes, stands there for around five, and then beats off for three. Usually, it's a mindless act, a remedy for morning wood, but thirty seconds into the pumping, Glenn's mind wanders and he thinks of Southern accents and sleeveless shirts, the rough feel of the man's fingers when he hands him the pizza. Somewhere along the bliss, a finger finds its way to his backside and Glenn strokes himself off.

He's behind schedule by ten minutes.

He's late for class all week.


It's Sunday night and Glenn's feeling kind of down. Mr Mysterious hasn't come in yet and he's about to close down for the night. He came every Sunday for the past few weeks so he would probably come in tonight, right?

A few of the girls outside buy slices and make small talk with Glenn. He smiles warily at them now, hoping that they didn't have any bacteria on their hands. The guy from the curb comes in as well, shooting Glenn a knowing look before buying a box for himself.

Rick parks his car in the lot. He waves at Glenn, who can't bring himself to smile.

He's got to come, Glenn reminds himself. He always does. With some weird craving.

But he doesn't come.


Dave had snuck out the back early because he knew Glenn was getting a ride. So Glenn is stuck with cleaning duty. Rick's parked outside before Glenn closes down. Glenn looks out the window and waves to Rick, who's sitting stiffly in the driver's seat. Rick suddenly shivers and Glenn raises a brow, but Rick just waves him off, mouthing for him to take his time.

It takes Glenn twenty minutes to clean out the kitchen and the front of the store. He's locking up the front door when he hears a window roll down.

"Took you long enough."

Glenn turns to find Shane sitting in the passenger seat. "When did you get here?"

Shane rolls his eyes then rubs his chin with the back of his hand. "Get in loser, we're gettin' smashed."

Glenn laughs as he runs to the door. He spends the ride rolling his eyes with Rick whenever Shane makes an off-hand joke about boning some chick.

As soon as Glenn reached the front door, which had a small paper sign with WELCOME TO VEGAS! written on it, Rick and Shane vanished. So, Glenn's left on his own and he migrates through the shirtless crowd, trying not to stare at the washboard abs and large bellies around him.

The party is insane. There is no other word to describe it. It's almost as packed as one of Andrea's infamous keggers, except there are more guys than girls. Glenn assumes most of them are Rick's cop school friends. It's hot and sweaty and there's some obnoxious techno song playing in the background. Glenn keeps his eyes on the ground, trying to ignore the sounds of lust coming from all around him. He's in the middle of what he assumes to be the living room when he hears a familiar laugh. Andrea. He looks up and lunges for her in desperation.

"Glenn?" She turns and gives him a smile before pulling him into an embrace. He feels the bottom of a beer bottle dig into his back. "What are you doing here? I thought you had work."

"Rick picked me up." Glenn scratches his cheek and takes another look around. "Where are the girls?"

Andrea waves his comment off with a simple, "Oh, they're not here. This isn't that kind of party."

"Then why are you here?"

"For Rick." She salutes him with the bottle of domestic beer in her hand. "And the booze."

Some girl Glenn doesn't know walks up to Andrea and tries to chat with her but Andrea shakes her head and the girl walks away. Glenn smiles sorrowfully at her and only gets a glare in return.

"Where's Amy?"


"Aw, come on Andrea. Just because she was out all night—"

"Not because of that."

"Then what?"

"Because of whom she was with."

"I'm not that bad of an influence, am I?"

"Not you, you idiot. Randall."

Glenn's mouth forms an 'o' and he nods. They migrate to the side of the room and Glenn realizes there are two guys getting it on in the hallway. Hands are everywhere and suddenly one of them drops to his knees. Glenn blushes and tries not to look. Andrea gives him a warm look and pulls his arm. She trades places with him. He mutters his thanks.

Andrea and Glenn make their way to couch while talking about school and life. Andrea's seeing someone but won't tell Glenn anything, not even his name. And Glenn, much to Andrea's pleasure, denies having any contact with Merle Dixon.

Someone yells something from upstairs and half the guys rush into the hallway. The living room is almost empty within a few minutes.

Glenn sighs in relief. He was beginning to boil in that room. He takes a quick look around to find only four other people in the room with him. It's that girl that tried to speak with Andrea earlier. She's whispering in Patricia's ear. There's another guy scrolling on a fancy phone Glenn will probably never get his hands on. Well, he can get one anytime he wants but he just can't afford those expensive plans. And he so does not want to get stuck with a shitty three year contract.

And there's some guy brooding in the corner, taking small sips of beer every few minutes. Someone staring directly at him. Glenn squints and gets a closer look and gasps. He immediately looks away and Andrea gives him a worried look.

He laughs it off and stares back at his lap while Andrea calls her dorm to check up on Amy.

Glenn faces his lap and side-eyes the man in the corner. It's Mr Mysterious. The man is taking a long swig of beer and Glenn has nothing to swallow but the saliva that's multiplying in his mouth. They don't break eye contact. He's in some absurd vest with wings on the back and his biceps—Glenn gulps, scanning the man's muscles—are begging to be touched. His pants are kind of baggy, which makes Glenn believe that bulge is even more impressive. And when the man smirks, his eyes shoot away and he finds Andrea climbing across the couch, invading his personal space.

"What's up with you?" she prods him in the shoulder.

"Nothing!" he responds too quickly.

"There's always something, Glenn."

He sighs resignedly. "Okay, fine. I kind of have a thing."

"A thing?"

"For this guy."

"Like a crush?" she asks slyly. And when Glenn nods sheepishly, Andrea's lips spread wide across her face in the creepiest way possible. "Who is it? Do I know him?"

"Er, no." Glenn shakes his head and whispers under his breath. "He comes into the store and gets pizza every week. He was there the other night with Amy. She said he was checking me out."

"Oh, Glenn. That's so romantic!" Andrea squeals loudly, pulling him into a tight hug. "It's like a coffeeshop romance! But with pizza." Glenn laughs quietly and stares at his shoes. For a good two minutes. "Well, are you going to spill or what?"

He takes a deep breath and counts to ten before he slowly raises his finger. "That's him over there." Glenn points towards Mr Mysterious, who's glaring hard in his direction for some reason.

He watches Andrea's face morph rapidly from a look of surprise to one of utter disbelief.

"No fucking way."


Andrea leans in, cupping her hand around Glenn's ear as she whispers. "That's Daryl," she hisses.

"Daryl?" Glenn copies, trying the name with his tongue.

Glenn finds that it comes out easily. He repeats under his breath a few more times and deduces there's a side effect of a rush of warmth whenever he says it. He licks his lip and sneaks a glance at Daryl, who nods knowingly. He's in the middle of trying to roll the R on his tongue when Andrea interrupts.

"Your boyfriend's brother."

He chokes on his spit.


Andrea tries to shoo Glenn out of there when Glenn abruptly stands up and stares, frightened, at Daryl, the brother of the guy who he lost his assginity to. The furrowing brows and tightly crossed arms only make Glenn comply to Andrea's tugging. He simpers in Daryl's direction and lets himself be pulled out of the house by Andrea.

He ends up in his apartment alone.

He's sitting on the edge of his bed, hands clasped together, wondering what the hell he's gotten himself into.

Shane barges in the middle of Glenn's alone time. Glenn quickly removes his hand and turns onto his stomach to hide his friend. He waves at his frustrated roommate, who doesn't say hello back.


The days pass by and the only contact Glenn has with Daryl is by phone. He wasn't sure it was Daryl at first, but the awkward pauses during the absurd orders of rooster and wieners and the yelling that alternated between 'Daryl!' and 'Darlena!' in the background clued him in. Glenn is not sure whether he feels glad that Jimmy and Randall are the ones doing the deliveries. All Glenn knows is that he'd rather not be found dead in the middle of the woods, killed by some drunk redneck that he lost his virginity to. A redneck whose brother is pretty hot.

When he finds out that Rick and Lori are dating, Glenn congratulates them and showers the occasion with his applause. He always thought they'd be a good couple.

Shane only greets Glenn with scowls and annoyed faces. There is a weird feeling of animosity that saturates from the other side of the room. Glenn isn't sure why.

Glenn's become closer to Andrea since he's been returning home to find different coloured socks on the doorknobs every other night. He comes home to pantyhosed doorhandles half the times. She always opens the door with a warm smile and shakes her head. Although the privacy is lacking, the carpet on her floor feels soft against his face.


It's another morning after one of Andrea's infamous keggers. When he exits the bathroom it's exactly 7 o'clock. Just on schedule. He rolls up his towel by twirling it in the air. He whips Shane on the ass. The larger man grumbles something about no whips until after the third date, causing Glenn to roll his eyes.

"Dude," Glenn groans, rubbing his forehead, and mentally reminds himself never to drink again. "Monday."


He's on another Sunday shift when he asks Randall how the delivery goes one night. Randall just shudders, saying that Glenn should be glad that he doesn't need to deliver a pizza to a drunken redneck in the middle of nowhere. Glenn laughs but it dies down quickly and he finds himself sitting behind the counter.

Almost everyone coming in asks for sausage and Glenn its really getting tired of explaining they need to order a pizza and the sausage would just go on top. He gets weird looks when he says that. Randall just shakes his head and asks how much one guy is offering. Glenn watches them barter in the corner and Randall smiles at Glenn before he goes through the back door.

The phone rings and Glenn is severely let down when he doesn't hear Daryl's voice on the other end. It's some old lady asking for a pizza with anchovies and dill. He tells Dave the order and Dave tells him to get Randall ready to go. So, Glenn heads to the back and opens the door to shout that there's a delivery.

Randall returns to the front of the store, a little dishevelled, and asks for the address. He rubs something red off the side of his lips. Lipstick? Glenn punches Randall on the shoulder playfully.

Daryl doesn't call that night.

And to Glenn's knowledge, he doesn't call all week.


Glenn picks up two extra shifts, taking them from Randall and Jimmy, who give him confused looks when he asks.

"Need it for the rent," he tries to say nonchalantly.

But the looks on their faces just tell Glenn they know he's lying.

"O-kay?" Jimmy agrees, unsure when Glenn corners him outside Amy's dorm room. "Hey, wait. Why do don't you sound desperate to make this month's rent?"

"Sure," Randall smiles knowingly from across the counter. "Let me know how it goes."

Glenn works all night on Monday and Wednesday—both of which are horribly busy nights and Glenn finds himself picking up after people and ringing orders for hours on end—and there's no sign of Daryl.

He returns to his apartment and crashes on his bed way past three in the morning.

And when he wakes up past noon, he realizes that Shane must have been either a) too lazy to wake him up for class or b) kind enough to let him sleep in. Glenn has a gut feeling that it's sadly the former.

He sighs and swings his legs off his bed. His face is covered in dried spit and he can't bring himself to wipe it off. It's 2:48 PM on what will probably be another horrible Thursday afternoon. There's a paper due, one from some class he doesn't even remember enrolling in. So, Glenn plods to the washroom and turns the shower's knob until he finds the perfect temperature. He sighs when he finds Shane's razor beside the soap. Glenn reaches for it, hoping to avoid touching the blades, hoping that it was only used on Shane's face.

When he exits the bathroom, it's exactly 3:00 PM. He wraps his towel around his waist, pulls on the cleanest pair of underwear he can find and jumps onto Shane's bed. The laptop makes a fizzing sound when Glenn presses the ON button. He connects to the shitty wireless internet, and instead of starting his paper, he types DARYL DIXON into ten different social sites and search engines.

He doesn't find anything.


Glenn paces back and forth in his room. For like, the millionth time.

"You've got it bad, kid." Shane shakes his head, chuckling lightly to himself. "Trust me. I've been there before."

"Dude, you're there right now!" Glenn paces back and forth. "Who is it? Who's that lucky girl you've been pining over? You haven't gotten this upset since you found out Rick got together with Lori— Oh. My. Gosh."

Shane jumps off the bed, shoves Glenn against the wall and clamps his hand over Glenn's mouth. "Not a single peep."

Glenn mumbles against the large fingers until Shane releases his hold. And he mutters under his breath, "You like Lori!"


"You totally do!" And Glenn babbles on and on about true love and pining.

For some reason, Shane just lets him.


Halloween's finally around the corner and even though Andrea and Amy press for Glenn to dress up, Glenn adamantly refuses. He ends up at the mall anyways, following the chatty sisters as they hold up shirts in front of a miserable Glenn. His initial protests and excuses that he couldn't afford a costume didn't hold the girls back.

After hours of fruitless searching, the girls end up deciding that he should just borrow the pepperoni pizza costume that Hershel never bothered to use, the dusty one in the back room of the store. So that's where they went.

Glenn is discomforted by the fact that he's at work when he's not getting paid. The costume is old and dusty and has an unevenly shaped crust. Glenn finds himself leaning to the left a bit and discovers that he needs to concentrate in order to stand up straight. The slices of pepperoni flap in the air each time he takes a step. And his arms, his arms jut out at either side of the slice. They parade him up and down the aisles of the tables, which leads to unnecessary amounts of laugher from Dave and Jimmy. The girls join in, giggling behind their hands. But the laughter dies down when the bell jingles above the front door.

"The fuck are y'all lookin' at?" comes the rough voice. It's a tough looking guy with a mean face. He's tall, real tall. Glenn has a vague feeling that he knows this man. But he can't remember where from.

Glenn finds himself taking a few steps back when he sees the gun slung across the man's back, eyeing for Andrea and Amy to move. They all move quietly and Glenn opens his mouth when they're all positioned behind the counter, hiding behind Glenn's large crust.

"Welcome to Hershel's. How can I help you?" he stammers, trying to cover up his nerves.

"Lookin' for a hot pizza! A hot slice! Best one you got, little man."

Glenn takes a deep gulp, trying not to fall over. "W-we've got pepperoni?"

The man eyes Glenn with an arched brow, looking up and down. Glenn's sweating like mad in his pizza costume, making the crust soggier with each passing second.

"Sounds good, Short Round!" the man cackles, rubbing his palms together. His eyes shoot toward the girls, who were trying not to cower behind Glenn. "No, I ain't askin' for sausage. I ain't no fag. This is for a friend." He licks his lips. "Yeah, a friend. Can't tell you his name though. I'd have to kill you if I do."

The girls nod furiously and Glenn presses a few buttons. Dave rushes off to the back and starts spreading sauce on dough.

"O-kay. That'll be $5.55"

The man's eyes light up. "DAMN! That's is dirt cheap!"

"Err… thank you?"

"Ain't somethin' to be proud of, boy!" The man only laughs, raising his hand up and down. Glenn and the girls stay like that for a few minutes, leaning back, away from the man, trying not to make any sudden movements. He slaps his thigh as he takes a few steps back from the counter. "Half an hour or else it's free!"

And Glenn watches as the man goes backwards, pushing the front door open with his back, snickering to himself.

Dave returns with the pizza. "What the fuck just happened out here?"

"He just left," Glenn says, still in a state of shock.

"Who was he?" Amy asked.

"That," Andrea shakes her head and looks at Glenn grimly. "Was Merle Dixon."


It takes a sleepless night for the shock to wear off. Not only was Merle not really handsome—okay, sure he had a weird charm to him or whatever—but he was creepy, crazy, and would probably shoot Glenn in the face if he even remembered seeing Glenn shirtless. Glenn runs his fingers through his hair, trying to make sure he doesn't hyperventilate.

He's just thankful that he doesn't have another shift tonight.

Glenn is in the washroom, struggling to put the gigantic slice of pizza on. Sadly, he has to resort wearing a tight wifebeater and briefs because not only did he not fit with jeans and a shirt, chances are he'd be sweating after five minutes. Shane's on the other side of the door, having a hoot, asking if Glenn kneads help. When Glenn opens the door and stumbles out, Shane makes a crack about there not being mushroom in there.

"Ha, ha," Glenn deadpans. "Very funny."

"I knew you'd agree. Dough'nt you think I'm hilarious?"

Glenn rolls his eyes. "Just move or I'll knock you over with my crust."

"Dude," Shane fake gags in his bright orange jumpsuit. "That's disgusting."

"What? What?"

"You don't want to know."


It's another sweaty night and Glenn's trying to enjoy himself at another of Andrea's infamous keggers. Glenn's by the punch bowl, pouring himself a drink before anyone can spike it. He lifts the ladle and because of the way his arms jut out of the costume struggles to pour the pink liquid into his cup. It's a pitiful sight, to be sure. Glenn's just glad everyone's busy sucking face or setting up a table for beer pong.

He's about to give up and dunk the cup and scoop some juice up when he sees Shane in his orange jumpsuit, chasing Rick in his deputy outfit. Glenn tries to call his friends over but they seem to be distracted by something. Rick is rubbing his wrist and Shane looks like he's at a loss on how to work those handcuffs. Glenn ends up dipping the cup. He drinks his fill and realizes some of the juice trickled onto his hand and down his arm.


Glenn ends up standing awkwardly at the side of the room for half the night, trying to discreetly wipe his hands wherever he can to get rid of that sticky sensation of dried juice. People pass him all night, some congratulating him for the sex—he is never going to live that down, especially if everyone finds out he lost it to Merle—while others simper awkwardly.

Amy passes by with Jimmy in tow. Glenn pretends to give her a high five, only to miss and rub his hand down her hard shelly back. She squeals—which is unbecoming for someone in a Bowser costume—and commands her Koopa to slap Glenn. Jimmy does with a sorry written on his face.

Glenn's next victim is Lori. He yells her name and waves frantically, only able to bend his arms at his elbows, to get her attention. She's about to leave the room when she spots him. She's in a sexy(?) get up. It's skimpy, very skimpy.

"What are you?" he asks, shouting to make his voice heard. "A stripper?"

She gives him a weird look. "No, I'm a cop."

"Can I touch your baton?"

"Have you seen Shane?"

"Oh, he's with Rick somewhere," Glenn blurts out. And Lori, glares, spins on her heels, and stalks out of the living room. "Wait! Do you have a moist towelette?"

Andrea comes up to him…dressed as a tourist? There's a fishing hat on her head and oversized shirts and vests and everything on her body.

"No, silly. I'm dressed up as Dale."

"Why would you be dressed up as one of our professors?"

"What's wrong with your hand?" she asks, ignoring his question, pointing to the one that's opening and closing. Glenn explains and she laughs. "It's called going to the washroom."

Glenn blushes. "I can't fit."

"Here, come to the kitchen." Andrea grabs him by the wrist and drags him through the thick crowd. She has to kick people out, telling them to make out elsewhere. Glenn adds that doing the dirty in the kitchen isn't sanitary.

"Trying to navigate a giant slice through a crowd of people is hard, huh?"

"Whose idea was this again?" she asks, running water on Glenn's hand. Glenn glares at her. She slowly applies soap. "Right…"

All of a sudden, Shane runs into the room, dragging a flustered Rick with him. He presses a finger onto his lips and jumps into a closet. It takes him a minute to coax Rick inside.

"Do you know why Rick and Shane are acting funny? Ever since that party at Rick's place. Lori too."

Andrea shakes her head. "You really don't want to know."

When Lori enters in the room, she stares harshly at Andrea and Glenn. He's in the middle of getting the soapy bubbles off his hands when Lori steps forward. Andrea's got a stern look but Glenn knows he has his 'I have a secret face' on.

"Tell me," Lori says strongly as she invades his personal bubble, popping it with her finger. She jabs him in the chest. Twice. With sharp red nails. "Everything."

Glenn gulps. "I have a crush on Merle's brother and Shane and Rick are in the closet."

All hell breaks loose.


Later, Glenn finds himself standing awkwardly as the bass bounces from the room. Rick, Shane, and Lori have gone off somewhere to work out their issues, and Andrea's off with some new girl he's never seen before. She had wicked awesome dreads and a badass sword.

The costume is beginning to weigh on him, growing heavier the more he sweats. It's dark and the only things brightening the room are the flickering strobe lights. Hands with red cups fly into the air and Glenn so hopes that it's just beer that splashed on his cheese.

Hershel is going to kill him.

He groans, unable to wipe himself dry, so he turns, faces the wall and slowly tries to rub himself against it. Glenn almost jumps when he feels a hot breath against his ear.

"So, you havin' a good time?"

Glenn slowly stops pressing himself against the wall and complains, "I can't even sit down."

He takes a step away from the wall and angles himself to get a better look at who's here to offer solace. Glenn's eyes widen when he realizes that standing in front of him was none other than Daryl Dixon.

Glenn squints, trying to guess who or what he's speaking to, but it's too dark. Daryl is in a tubular costume, tall, somewhat red. He has a vague idea of what Daryl is but wants to make sure.

Glenn bites. "What are you dressed up as?"


Glenn laughs, "I thought you were a dick for a second."

Daryl's face scrunches up. "What you call me?"

"You know, penis? You looked like a penis. Your costume?"


Glenn licks his lip. "…Yup."



Glenn stands there awkwardly, trying not to side-eye Daryl. Even though he tries, he fails, since a blasted bubble of cheese is blocking his view. They stand there, breathing heavily, watching the couples in the crowd grind their hips together. He's sweating like mad and can feel a warm drop racing down his spine and will probably fall down any second because the damn costume weighs so much.

And from the way Ed is staring at him hungrily from across the room makes him really very uncomfortable.

"Want to grab a slice?" he offers. He really needs to get out of there.

"Yeah," Daryl licks his lips, eyeing Glenn up and down, and a sense of relief spreads across his face. He must be hungry. "I do."


Daryl may have brought his pick-up but Glenn still had to ride in the back. Unlike Daryl's pepperoni costume, Glenn's pizza didn't bend so easily. For some reason, Daryl speeds. Glenn's bouncing along, trying not to fall out of the truck, when he realizes Daryl made a wrong turn.

"Uh," Glenn knocks on the windshield. Daryl's eyes move from the street to the rear view mirror. Glenn waves frantically but Daryl looks away. So he knocks again. When he manages to get Daryl's attention, he sticks out his thumb and points back the way they came. "Hershel's is that way?"

Daryl nods gruffly and does a u-turn at the next light.

When Daryl parks his truck, Glenn jumps out of the back, and falls on his face. Glenn can hear someone snickering and he tells Daryl to shove a cake in his hole. Daryl mumbles something to himself before he offers Glenn his hand.

Glenn reluctantly reaches for it before swatting it away.

"Dude, I can handle myself."

"Yeah, sure."

Glenn struggles on the pavement for a few minutes, unable to stand up. From his position, he can see Daryl speaking to Randall at the counter. He manages to sit down, but the weight of the soggy costume makes him lean to his right, and eventually fall over. Luckily, the parking lot is empty and none of the girls are here to tonight to make fun of him.

He's lying on the ground when he notices Daryl move to sit at his usual spot. He spies a smirk on Daryl's face before he arches his neck to watch the television.

It's ten minutes later when Glenn gives up. Glenn's flailing, trying to use his legs to push himself backwards. He wiggles his arms and tries to press with his palms to lift himself. He's flipping and flopping, breathing heavily, as he crabwalks toward the front door. He's being lifted up somehow, being hauled away from the store—a giant pizza ready to be eaten.

He sighs, "I really just want to get this off."

"I'd like to get you off."

Glenn freezes, hoping the offer isn't coming from the guy on the curb. Glenn searches the storefront and Daryl's not where he's supposed to be sitting. Randall's not at the counter. Glenn shuts his eyes closed, to prevent his eyes from welling. Glenn flops over and sees a giant pepperoni sausage penis comes bends over him. "Very funny."

Daryl holds his empty hand out and Glenn takes it.

"Umm," Glenn smiles bashfully. "Thanks."

But instead of leading him to his truck, Daryl brings him to the front door.

Daryl assists Glenn to the back of the store, where Glenn decides to change. But seeing as he was struggling under the weight of the wet fabrics that threatened to topple him over, and the fact that he knocked two bags of flour onto the floor already, Glenn sucks it up and asks the walking pepperoni stick for help.

Daryl raises a brow when he sees the stumbling slice make his way to the front of the store. Glenn waves him over and Daryl smirks and pushes Glenn to the back room. Glenn feels the costume press somewhere on his lower back.

After a few minutes of struggling and feeling hands in places that were previously untouched by human hands—excluding his mother and the doctors and nurses that pulled him out of the fabled birth canal—Glenn finds himself free of that horrible sweat suit. He didn't think he'd be able to get out of there without creaming his briefs, especially with how warm Daryl's hands were and how grabby he was.

"Now, about that slice?" Daryl asks, eyeing Glenn up and down.

And Glenn realizes he's in a wifebeater and tight briefs and the blood in his cheeks was rushing downward. But instead of replying coherently, Glenn mumbled his gratitude, thanking Daryl repeatedly before running out of the pizza shop and back to the apartment.


Shane is sitting on his bed, half out of his orange jumpsuit, typing furiously, when Glenn opens the door. Shane takes a quick glance at Glenn before going back to whatever he was doing. Glenn groans, dropping his bag at the entrance and uses his foot to push the door closed. He takes a good four steps before crashing onto his own bed.

"The matter with you?" Shane moves icons on his desktop.

"Don't wanna talk about it," Glenn mumbles into his pillow.

"This gotta do with your cherry poppin' redneck?" Shane side eyes him.

Glenn blushes and sputters a big denial before chucking a pillow at his roommate. "Not even! I'm tired of all the creeps coming to work asking for sausage on their pizzas!"

"Dude, you work at Hooker Hershel's." Shane's fingers pause. "Creeps come in askin' for sex there all the time. You were bound to get a few hits every now and then."

"Now you tell me! I always thought those girls' friends were too scared to come in and order pizza."

Glenn's daydreaming of Southern drawls and bulging biceps as Shane begins some long description of the history prostitution at HERSHEL'S and how foods served as double entendres and 'grabbing a slice' and other such phrases are now euphemisms in their neighbourhood.

Which means all those times when Daryl was asking for sausage, soy sauce, buns, and kimchi…

A flash of understanding spreads across Glenn's face.

It all made sense now.

"Holy shit!"

Glenn mumbles to himself quietly when he realizes that Daryl Fucking Dixon was propositioning him for sex the past few weeks.

"Of course you're gettin' hit on by pervs. It's not like you wanted to take him up on it," Shane says lazily. Glenn stays silent, hoping Shane wouldn't press on, but Shane's eyes glint with realization. "You did! You did, didn't you! You dirty little fucker! What's the douche look like?"

Shane sits upright and stares expectantly at Glenn. Glenn makes a small noise in his throat, aghast at Shane's accusation. He's staring at his roommate, who has an expectant look on his face, as if he is actually interested in Glenn's non-sexistent love life. Shane chucks the pillow back at Glenn, demanding details of the utmost thoroughness.

Instead of spilling, Glenn sighs and hides under his pillow, trying not to think about getting shoved up against the wall by Daryl like some cheap ho.

But he does.

And he enjoys the idea.


Glenn's taking inventory behind the counter at HERSHEL'S on another lonely Sunday night. Tony, like usual, is sleeping in the back. He has a plan and he intends to carry it through. He's running the scenario in his mind—one where Daryl uses a cheesy pick up line and Glenn would say yes and they will live happily ever after—when he hears the door bell jingle, marking someone's appearance. It's not Daryl though. It's some other guy, asking for tacos. Glenn just rolls his eyes and points to the parking lot, where the girls are parading around.

Embarrassed, the guy rubs the back of his neck and slowly backs out of the store.

When Daryl enters the door that evening, Glenn's nervous and excited and practically squealing inside.

"Hey, Daryl." He grins cheekily. "What do you want?"

"A …" Daryl mumbles something under his breath. Something about sausages in buns and Glenn can tell where this is going.

There's an evil laugh ringing in Glenn's head and he decides to make Daryl sweat.

"A what?"

"Fuck this," Daryl turns, speeds out of the building, and jumps into his truck and drives off, leaving Glenn alone with cans of tomato sauce.

Well, so much for that plan.


The rest of the night pretty much blows.

Tony is still sleeping in the back and there's a sign taped by the door that says HE WHO DISTURBS THE BEAST BEFORE CLOSING SHALL PAY WITH THEIR LIFE. There's only five minutes left until the store officially closes, so Glenn's wiping down the tables and praying no one comes in to order anything. He's kicking a pair of pizza crusts, playing a makeshift game of soccer with himself, when he hears the doorbell jingle.

He sighs dejectedly and turns, about to open his mouth and welcome the patron, but comes face to face with a scary, teeth-baring Merle, who seems to have come back for the pizza he ordered.

"Come on, hot slice, "Merle growls at Glenn and grabs him by the shirt. "Yer five days late!"

Glenn flails, trying to push Merle off him, but that man has a strong grip and doesn't look like he's planning to let go. So Glenn yells for help but the only thing he hears are Tony's dismissive snores.

Merle pushes Glenn toward a bike—one that Glenn would agree is sick and awesome if he wasn't being taken to be cut into pieces, shoved in a body bag, and left in the woods—before swinging his leg over it.

Glenn stares awkwardly and Merle pats the spot behind him. "You're ridin' bitch."

Raising his hands slowly, Glenn stammers an excuse about not talking to strangers. Merle mocks him before reaching out into his bike's saddle and pulling out a small handgun. Glenn sighs resignedly and tries to straddle the bike but as soon as he swings his leg over, Merle revs the engine and speeds off.

Glenn's unsure where to put his hands. He waves them in the space between his chest and Merle's back. He reaches for Merle's waist but retracts his arms as quickly as possible. Perhaps if he holds onto Merle's shirt, but from the way Merle tenses, Glenn thinks that's not such a good idea. So Glenn reaches down and holds onto the leather seat.

The panic finally sets in when Glenn reaches the woods.

Merle drives recklessly, driving through stop signs without slowing down, running more and more reds the further they went from the centre of the town. The trees are growing larger, thicker, and Glenn's struggling to hold on. Merle makes a sharp turn, which makes Glenn clutch the seat tightly. He pulls himself down, hoping he wouldn't topple over and lose half of his skin from road burn.

It feels like forever when Merle stops. They're parked in front of his house and he's panicking and breathing and he darts his eyes around the yard looking for a good escape route that doesn't involved running into the woods and being hunted down like some animal. When Merle turns off the engine, Glenn gulps and gets off the bike. He's simpering in front of Merle, who glares at Glenn. Merle nods at the house and Glenn walks, head hung down, whispering goodbye messages in his mind.

The wooden boards creak loudly and Glenn sees the curtain flutter. When he reaches the top of the steps, Glenn feels something cold press against his back and a warm breath on his neck.

"Open the door, little man," Merle commands.

Glenn does and he finds Daryl standing there in the middle of an empty foyer, like a deer caught in headlights. Daryl's eyes flick back and forth, between Glenn and Merle. Glenn raises his hand and wiggles his fingers hello. Daryl abruptly straight when Merle smacks Glenn's wrist down. Glenn winces from the pain and rubs it with his thumb.

"Nuh uh," Merle wags his finger in front of Glenn's face. "Half an hour or it's free." He pushes Glenn toward Daryl, who gulps. "So? What you waitin' for? Take it off!"

"What?" Glenn gives Daryl a confused look but Daryl refuses to look him in the eye. The man's looking down, possibly at his feet.

"I'm tired of your mopin' around waitin' like some pansy. Be a man and take what you want!"

"Huh?" Glenn follows Daryl's arms and notices that his hands are hovering above Glenn's crotch.

"Screw this." Merle grumbles something under his breath and steps in between them. "Fuck you!" Merle yells at Glenn, holding a finger dangerously close to his face. Then he turns to Daryl. "And fuck you too!" Merle storms up the stairs and slams a door somewhere. "Don't say I never did anythin' for you, lil' brother!"

Glenn looks at Daryl and gulps.

"So…" Daryl mumbles as he reaches into his pocket.


"Here." Daryl steps toward Glenn and grabs a hold of his wrist. He raises it and puts a few bills and coins into Glenn's hand. "Don't care if you're late. You're still gettin' paid."

"For what?" Glenn blinks. He looks at his hands. There are a few crumpled bills, a couple quarters, and a nickel. It's warm and Glenn finds himself clutching onto the cash. He steps forward and tries not to look at how bare this house looks. There's a dirty couch against one of the walls and a clock that didn't seem to move.

Daryl looks dumbfounded. "You know." He stares at the couch, where there's a bottle of lube and a box of condoms.

Glenn squints and looks at what Daryl's wearing. A sleeveless shirt and tight jeans that leave little to the imagination—actually it left a lot. If Daryl was a grower then Glenn's going to need all the lube in the world. Then it hits him. "You do know I'm not a prostitute, right? They're the ones standing outside Hershel's."

"Oh." Daryl presses his lips thin and looks somewhat smug? "No shit?"

"Yeah, I'm just a regular guy trying to make ends meet it." Glenn shoves the money down his pocket and takes a bold step forward. "Part time job and all that."

Daryl tugs at his collar. "Oh. So… how about makin' some extra money?"

Glenn stares into his eyes and smiles. And suddenly he finds his mouth against Daryl's. He's breathing and short of breath at the same time. So he closes his eyes and focuses on the warmth that's pressed against him. They kiss furiously, a little bit desperate, a little bit content. Glenn sighs into Daryl's mouth and feels himself being removed of his shirt and tugged toward the stairs.

They stumble up, falling over twice, because hands are too busy roaming around bodies and under jeans and when Daryl squeezes Glenn's ass, Glenn retaliates by grabbing Daryl's junk. When they reach the top of the stairs, the first door on the left flings wide open and Daryl and Glenn fling themselves apart.

Merle glares and points down the stairs. "Not here, you don't!"


They're outside Glenn's door when he ruffles through his pockets for his keys. It's buried between the cash somewhere, so Glenn takes everything out and rifles through the bills.

"Wait!" Glenn says, rummaging through the cash in his hands. "You thought I would suck a dick for $5.55?"

Daryl just shrugs.


Glenn groans into the cum-stained pillow. The vibrating alarm makes his headache even worse. Glenn reaches out, flailing one of his arms in the direction the sound's coming from without batting an eye open, smacking objects here and there. After a few tries, he manages to knock over a hopefully empty beer bottle, finger his favourite red cap, thwack someone's arm, and presses the good old SNOOZE button. From his angle, it appears to be 6:54 AM.

He manages to rest a pitiful five minutes before he feels something shift beside him, vibrating for Glenn's attention. It's actually way past seven and Glenn realizes he probably has another horrible hangover. Glenn kicks off his usual routine by rolling in his sheets in an attempt to untangle himself. But something's wrong with this picture. Glenn moans quietly, opening his eyes to find himself in his room. Nothing wrong there.

But there's warm arms wrapped around his waist, those ones with the hairs that tickled the sides of his stomach.

With a long leg pinning him down.

He's in bed.

With Daryl Dixon.


Glenn feels a warm breath on the back of his neck.

"Stay," Daryl whispers into his ear. "You've got to slow down. Sniff the flowers and shit like that."

"Because everyone loves smelling shit."

Daryl's grip tightens. "You know what I mean."

"But I have class," Glenn protests.

"You'll skip 'em anyways." Daryl mumbles into his shoulder, pulling him in tight, snuggling closer. "You're not gettin' away from me this time."

"This time?" Glenn raises his head.

Daryl nods. "Last time you ran off. Saw you at the kegger after I tried pickin' you up at Hershel's for the first time. You were so shit-faced that you puked all over your pants. Was so sticky had to cut it up to take them off. By the time I was done, you ended up passin' out before I could get my dick in you."

"So I didn't have sex with your brother?"

Daryl gives him a dumbfounded look. "You kiddin' me? You thought you lost your assginity to Merle? Merle?"

Glenn gapes and covers Daryl's mouth when the man looks like he's about to burst into laughter.

Glenn hears a door open and close when Daryl snakes a hand up his thigh. Glenn nods, leaning toward Daryl, moving his head to allow the man access to his neck. He plans on wearing a hickey to class today so he can brag to everyone about it. He giggles when Daryl licks a long stripe up his neck. He blushes when hears Shane call from the hallway.

"Use the fucking sock!"

The door slams closed after that.

Daryl offers Glenn a ride after school. Glenn happily accepts.

Glenn shows up to class late with a red mark on his neck, one that seems to garner attention from an impressed Andrea. A few seats away, Shane and Lori seem to be chattering cheerfully. Dale blathers on about the human condition and what makes us good. Andrea's in the middle of trying to get him to spill when he looks at the clock.

He is half an hour behind schedule.

But he doesn't mind.


Glenn is slamming his fist against the side of the cash register when he hears the doorbell jingle. It's another lonely Sunday night at HERSHEL'S. Dave ditches early as per usual and Jimmy's out doing the last delivery of the night. When Glenn looks up, he sees a woman in the tightest shirt he's ever seen. Glenn tries not to ogle when she saunters up to the counter.

"Got any tacos?" she asks, with a sultry voice.

Glenn beams, not because he's willing to go a round with her but because he knows the deal, what's down, what's going on. Glenn shakes his head. "We only have pizza." He points toward the window and out to the parking lot. "Maybe they can help you out."

The woman's heels clack as she strolls out the store. She's sashaying intently, trying to wave goodbye with her booty. Glenn rolls his eyes and decides he should dropkick the blasted machine. He sighs in relief when the bells jingle again, which means the woman is gone and he could go back to doing nothing.

He lowers himself to the ground and pretends he's sorting something underneath the counter when in fact, he's trying to get comfortable for a quick nap. Glenn shoots straight up when he hears the hoarse cough.

"Welcome to Hershel's! How can I help you?" he sputters, trying to fix the cap on his head. He quickly brushes his hands clean on his apron—which ironically has a few stains of marinara and garlic sauce—before raising his head to smile at the customer. When Glenn looks up, he sees a sleeveless man with a cheeky smirk standing on the other side of the counter.

"I'd love a slice," Daryl chuckles.

Glenn brings his hand to his chin and rubs it thoughtfully. "Sorry. No can do. We're closing in five minutes."

Daryl grins and steps to Glenn's side of the counter before going into the kitchen. "Fuck that then. I'm in the mood for some Korean. Meet you in the back."

Glenn shakes his head. "Dude, this goes has 'health code violation' written all over it."

When Glenn locks the door a few minutes early (don't tell Hershel) he hears Daryl laugh from somewhere in the back room and the jingling of a belt being unbuckled.

"By the way, Merle wants his flag back."

A/N: Inspired by the burger place known for having prostitutes hanging around. It's known as Hooker Harvey's—hence Hooker Hershel's.