It is clear in both Daryl's initial reaction and how it continues to move through slow steps. But Daryl is still here, and touching his face, and holding onto him. His heart twists in the same way it does whenever he thinks about him, sees him, lays with him like this anymore - he doesn't wonder if he's made a mistake because he doesn't think he has. There's no mistake in the action of loving Daryl Dixon, and he wouldn't deserve to if he questioned it for even a second.

The hand a his back smooths out again, palm flat and thumb rubbing slowly even as he burrows close. He's not hiding against him, not worried, not scared. It's probably stupid he's so calm and unruffled, though the fact that Daryl is so confused about the concept of being loved is, he thinks, one of the worst things he's seen in his life. He leans into Daryl's hand, eyes closing a moment, comfortable, trusting. (Loving.)

His other hand was still at the side of his neck but it slips to rest at his nape as he tilts toward him for another kiss, this one soft. Not tentative - it lingers a long moment - but soft. Then he just looks at him quietly, smiling softly. He's not bothered at all by the way he's being held. Finally he presses their foreheads together, content with their closeness.

"I love you," he says again. He sounds just as sure of himself as the first time.